Number Four
by accioeve3
Summary: "Number four..." Hermione tapped her quill on the edge of the table and tucked the corner of her bottom lip beneath her teeth. Her eyes glistened as an idea popped into her head and she swiftly scribbled down the words before she regretted it. 'Make peace with Draco Malfoy' were the words that, little did she know at the time, would change her ever-decreasing months dramatically.
1. Prologue

**Author's note: **So this is my first Harry Potter fanfiction, but I'd thought I'd give it a go to see if anyone's interested. It's very short as it's the prologue and just a taster to see whether people will like it or not, so please give reviews and let me know what you think and don't be afraid to be harsh!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, sadly.

* * *

**Prologue**

She fell into a plush, caramel armchair by the window, fascinated by the sound of the rain pounding outside, on everything in its path. She had just ordered a warm cup of chamomile tea, a drink that she swore by. Twiddling her thumbs in a halfhearted fashion, she reread the letter she had received from Professor McGonagall, a mere three hours ago, for what seemed like the hundredth time since. Attached to it was a galleon-sized badge which she had placed at the edge of the table, somewhere so she could not see it directly. She closed her eyes and picked it up between her fingers, running the pad of her finger across the smooth, golden edge. Clenching her hands into fists, she felt the needle on the badge press into her palm, and instantly released it from her grasp. Tossing it like a dice across the table, she replayed the words, in her head, over and over. 'Head Girl, Head Girl, Head Girl'.

This was out of character for her, being awarded the honor of being the Head Girl of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, surely, she should be jumping for joy, owling her friends and researching the history of the school's heads to make sure she was up to scratch on the first day. It was wrong, the thoughts that were running through her mind were wrong,she couldn't help it, it was real, what she had dreamed of was becoming, wasreality and it had finally hit her and the feelings did not match up with the dreams. Why was she feeling like she did? She knew why, she was scared.

"Excuse me?" She looked up, at the sound of the voice. "Chamomile tea?" The waiter gave her a warm smile, and at her confirmation, placed a cup of steaming hot tea onto the table next to her letter. She stuffed the letter and the badge back into her bag and threw a half-smile back to the waiter.

"Thanks." She slipped off her shoes and tucked her feet underneath her, taking the cup into her hands. As she looked out the window at the vast expanse of sky; Hermione sipped at the tea, the apple-like aroma soothing her mind almost immediately.

* * *

"Number four..." Hermione tapped her quill on the edge of the table and bit on the corner of her bottom. Her eyes glistened as an idea popped into her head and she swiftly scribbled down the words before she regretted it. Dropping her quill into the jar of ink, she heaved herself off the chair and smoothed down her skirt, she picked up the piece of paper she had been writing on and surveyed it. "That's just not enough. Ginny can help… Ginny will help." She muttered to herself, slipping the letter in between two pages of 'Hogwarts: A History" and tucking the large book beneath her arm.

* * *

He had somewhat been expecting the very letter he held in his hands, the Headmistress at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Witchcraft; his school, had just owled him. Potter, had surprisingly, not been appointed Head Boy, and as he re-read the letter, this filled him with pride and well, smugness. Being an exceptional student at the school, he couldn't say it was a phenomenon that he had been granted the role, but he was positively astonished.

The sound of Narcissa Malfoy's heels on the marble hall leading up to his room could be heard from a short distance away. He listened to the steady rhythm of her footsteps before they came to a halt at his doorstep, and she knocked on the door.

"Yes." He asked as he slipped the badge into his hands and turned around in his chair, to be faced by Narcissa.

"What did McGonagall have to say?"

He suppressed a smirk as he reached out and opened his hand in front of her. Picking the badge up, she frowned, her eyes were wide, her mouth was agape, and her ruby-red lips parted to form an expression you would call 'flabbergasted'. "Oh my goodness!" she drew in a quick breath, holding the badge to her heart and looking at him for the first time since she arrived in his room. "Well, we'll need to celebrate, of course!"

It didn't take long for the house elves to cook up a stunning dinner for just the two of them. He sat at one end of the table, and Narcissa at the other. A beautiful arrangement of food was displayed before them, and continued to grow as the elves reached up and placed an array of marinated carrots and sautéed brussel sprouts on the little space left on the table.

"It's not Christmas," He muttered, disapproving of the overwhelming amount of food that had been cooked, simply for an event that had been assumed anyway.

Narcissa smiled, stabbing her fork into a piece of meat and slipping it into her mouth. Things had not been the same ever since Lucius had been sent to Azkaban after the war. The only sound that was heard in the large dining room of Malfoy Manor was the scuttling of house elves' bare feet as they adamantly threw questions at 'Master Malfoy' and 'Mistress Malfoy', checking that they were both okay and everything was adequate. The noise that Draco gritted his teeth and clenched his jaw at the most though, was the cutlery scraping against the plates destroying the pure silence of everything else. And he hated it. He hated what his Father had done to the family and the ruin that he had brought to the Malfoy reputation; his reputation. Draco Malfoy was frowned upon by almost all of the Wizarding community for his Father's actions during the war. Lucius Malfoy was nothing to him, he no longer considered him to be his Father.

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you to Pineapple246 for being a fabulous beta, too! Everyone go check out her beta-profile.


	2. Calm Solemnity

**Author's Note: **Thanks for favourites/followers/reviews that I received just for that mere prologue! It was encouraging to know that people were actually taking an interest. This one's a little longer, so that's probably a relief to those of you who were thinking every chapter was going to be that short. Thank you again, and also shoutout to my beta Pineapple246.

**Disclaimer: **You could probably tell from the prologue that this isn't JK Rowling, so I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

Arriving at the Burrow on 31st August was a tradition that Hermione had kept up for a few years now, but this year, it felt odd. Everything had altered, and the three weren't sure it would be as happy as they expected it to be, what with all the changes, but they wanted their final year to be relaxed and stress-free. Hermione laughed bitterly as she thought about this.

At 7.24, she stood in front of the entrance of the Burrow and knocked lightly. As expected, there was no answer. She decided to let herself in, considering she'd known the boys for quite a few years now and they had gone through a substantial amount together, she thought this was more than acceptable. As she stepped over the threshold, the first thing she heard was (most likely Ron's) pounding footsteps on the unsteady stairs in front of her. A vibrant head of hair popped round the corner and the face beneath it looked at her. "Hermione? Bloody hell, we didn't realise you were coming this early!"

Ignoring her presence and the expectant expression on her face, Ron moved over to the oven where upon a batch of freshly-made cupcakes rested. He winced slightly as he picked up the tray bare-handed, but it didn't prevent him from stuffing a pretty pink one in his mouth and carrying it upstairs. "Come on up, Harry will be chuffed. Scratch that, _Mum_ will be chuffed. George is still in his room. He hasn't come out for a few weeks, maybe he'll say hello now you're here. Ginny's staying at Luna's tonight, she invited us but I declined. That alright? Thought so." He didn't let her get a word in whatsoever, so she climbed up the stairs behind him in pure silence.

"Is that 'Mione?" She brightened when she heard Harry's voice. Rushing past Ron and through the doorway, she threw her arms around Harry so frantically and with such force that he fell back slightly, bewildered and had to catch both of them from toppling on the floor. Her face was buried in the crook of his neck and she drunk in his scent that smelt like treacle tart. "Hi, Harry."

He stretched his arms to take a look at her, and observed the faint purple rings underneath her eyes, though he didn't comment about them, he would ask her later. "How have you been?"

"That's something I needed to talk to you about actually." The three of them walked slowly over to the bed, Hermione in between the two, Harry's hand on her back as they led her over.

His voice was suddenly concerned. "You're alright, aren't you? Has something happened?" It was clear that even with Voldemort gone, his permanent disposition of anxiety was still apparent.

She stared at a cupcake that Ron had left on the dresser. It was dripping with orange icing and was decorated with silver balls. She would have quite liked to have eaten it, if she hadn't have had the burden of telling them her 'news'.

"Oh, there you are boys!" Molly eyed Harry and Ron, and finally settled on Hermione. "Dear! Welcome, welcome. Do you need anything? Cupcake? I see Ronald's already brought them up." Her gaze shifted to her son suspiciously, her eyes twinkling. "Drink?" Hermione shook her head ferociously, not succumbing to Molly's generous nature. "Well then, dinner's nearly ready. Ron, you can set the table."

"Mum, can I just do it later-"

"Ah, ah, ah!" She held a finger up, looking away. "Ronald, you can set the table, _now_."

His head dropped and eyes on the floor, he shuffled out of the room.

* * *

"What did you want to talk about?" Harry asked, before cutting into food. At hearing no answer, he paused and looked at Hermione. "Before, 'Mione?"

She looked up, a confused expression gracing her face. "Oh! Of course, yes. It doesn't matter, actually." She was puzzled as to why these words were coming out of her mouth but something was stopping her from confessing to them. She was scared. Terrified, actually. More than ever. As to how they would react, what they would do. Ron, especially. Nothing had ever stopped her from telling her two best friends what was on her mind, but in this particular moment, something was.

The sound of Ron's teeth gnawing on the food was enough to break the sudden awkwardness of the topic of conversation and they both looked at him sideways. "Don't mind me." He smiled, florets of broccoli poking through his teeth.

"Right." That brief moment of silence had given Hermione an idea that would aid her in branching out from that conversation. "Earlier, a few weeks ago, I received a letter from McGonagall. It contained a badge." This spiked both of their interests. "I'm Head Girl."

Neither of the two looked at all astonished and she was slightly uncertain whether to be flattered by this (because she secretly knew it was expected) or to be slightly irked by their obvious lackadaisical attitude. She sighed.

"Hermione, you can't honestly think that we'd be surprised at this, of course it's you, you're the "brightest witch of her age"." Ron used air quotes and rolled his eyes to emphasise his lack of sincerity. He wiped his mouth with his napkin and laid it down on the table, beside his empty plate. "Could you name anyone that would be better than you for Head Girl?" She opened her mouth to respond, but was surprised to find nothing came out. "Harry?" He shook his head defiantly. "Exactly."

"Wait." Harry's eyebrows knitted together as he pondered something. "If you've received your badge, then that means the Head Boy has received his badge."

The remaining two looked at him thoughtfully. "Bloody hell, Harry. It's not you?"

"You really think I wouldn't have told you?"

"I wouldn't put it past you."

"Merlin, Ron, this is not the Triwizard Tournament!"

"Boys!" Hermione wasn't in the mood (she never was) for their petty squabbles. "If it's not Harry, then who is it?"

Ron looked faintly insulted for a moment, and managed to mask it with a quick reply. "Neville?"

"Don't be silly, Ronald."

Harry frowned. "He's not. After what happened during the war, I wouldn't be surprised. He certainly deserves all, he turned out to be braver during the war than we expected didn't he."

Hemione smiled, and hoped dearly that it, in fact, was Neville Longbottom. Deep down though she knew who it, and it wasn't him, she didn't want to say it, she didn't want to hear what Ron would have to say about them… him having this role alongside her. It had to be him; it had to be the person that was almost on an equal echelon as her, intellectually. She knew it. 'The Brightest Witch of Her Age' knew it.

* * *

The heavy bustle of the train on the 1st of September somehow always managed to make Hermione feel uneasy, what with the excessive amount of people trying to get on at one doorway – and the disorderly fashion in which they did this, but with the added burden of her confession to the boys, she was more than on edge. Seeing a group of first years, she felt a sudden wave of nausea, as she wished she was as young and naive as them, with no worries, not anything. It pained her to think that this was her last year of Hogwarts, but what pained her even more was the fact that this was probably her last year with all her friends, and she resented that. Minute eleven year olds clung onto their owl cages as they hurried into compartments, laughing and playing with their friends, unknowing of how much they may depend on any one of them. Hermione Granger was melancholy as she watched these scenes, wanting deeply and truly to be that blissfully innocent again. The worst of it was that she knew that wasn't an option.

She slid open a door to an empty compartment, pushed her suitcase onto the racks above the seats and ignored the sharp pain in her left knee. It was reminding her of what she had to do today. Ron appeared first, his strident voice telling everyone that he had arrived before anyone saw him. He noticed Hermione sat on the seats politely, her hands clasped tightly on top of her legs, her back straight parallel against the wall. "Nice pick, 'Mione." He murmured, haphazardly throwing his trunk onto the seat, the heavy end of it wobbling precariously off the edge. He fell onto the space beside it, opposite her, and grinned. "Happen to know where Harry is?"

She shook her head, tracing the thin rim of the window with her delicate fingers. "I lost him when we passed through to the platform. He'll find us." She tried to disguise the fact that she was secretly happy about Harry not being there, because it delayed the talk that she so needed to have with him. Ron nodded. And they had nothing to say after that.

Harry appeared later on during the train journey, after the two had changed into their robes. "Sorry, I was with Ginny." He smiled happily. "She's a prefect, did you know, Ron?"

Hermione stood up, unbalanced slightly as her form adjusted to the minor movement of the train. "I should go and say hello. Where is she?"

"No," Harry put his hand on her wrist before he could take a seat and before she could touch the door. "You need to talk to us, I can tell." Hermione sighed, at how well her best friend knew her, and as silly as that sounde das she thought it, but he was bound to catch on. She still let out a sigh, and rolled her eyes, and backed away. He held her gaze, emerald eyes boring into her's.

"Okay." She took his calloused, over-worked hand and went back to her original position. "Yeah."

The amount of times she had gone over this speech did nothing to her confidence or certainty that the words would come out correctly, and she didn't even know whether these words _could_ be said correctly. Would the meaning behind the words diminish the delivery? Was it completely worthless repeating the words when the meaning would always be the same? She thought she could somehow taint the facts and sugar-coat them so much that they wouldn't seem true and everything would go back to normality. She was truly wrong. She wanted, needed, to tell them, the collision, the entanglement, the sheer misfortune of all of it, but her mind wavered and she felt like there was no other option than to run away.

She stood her ground. She had to. She had to tell them. Whether it was telling the whole speech or just saying the three words. She just had to or she would feel a failure.

"I had a pain in my leg, which wouldn't go." Harry nodded, encouraging her to continue. She felt sick. She didn't want to shatter their lives, how ever arrogant that sounded, the pain would come from affecting their lives, not the illness itself. Ron absentmindedly set a chocolate frog beside him, and she focused on that as she went on. "Naturally, I went to the doctors. I had blood tests, x-rays, all that." Ron raised one eyebrow, but didn't bother to interrupt. Hermione gulped, and her mouth went dry. Her throat closed up, and she suddenly felt it difficult to swallow. Her eyes shifted from Harry to Ron, Ron to Harry, both of them looking rapidly startled.

The next thing she said was the words that she had rehearsed over and over in her bedroom. The words she had dreaded saying to anyone that she cared for, the words that broke hearts and shattered hopes and dreams. Three words.

"I have cancer."

She looked away.

"We can get it cured, Hermione. Don't you worry. We have wands, we make potions, we can do magic. We can sort this out." The falseness and insecurity of Harry's voice broke her heart into even tinier pieces.

She shook her head, almost simultaneously with Ron. "No. No, no. No. I'm past the stage where magic can aid me. I know, I looked into it. I researched and researched and I'm finally accepting the fact that I have to wait. It's alright, Harry. It's alright."

"No. It is absolutely and utterly _not alright. _You're not going to wait. I'm not going to _sit here_ and watch you _wait_ for death like it's some sort of _birthday present. _We have come too far and done too much together to watch you drift away from us._ No_." He was in denial. He was seething. Hermione's hand flew to her mouth to conceal her trembling chin and wavering lips. They tasted salty.

Ron was unspoken during this, and she struggled to look at him without breaking down. Silent tears fell down his cheeks, dropping onto his lap. Standing up, he robotically walked towards the door, stepping over the trunks on the floor. He pinched the bridge of his nose, and, without looking at her, asked her the dreadful question. His voice was a whisper. "How long have you got?"

Her hair fell over her face as she dipped her head. "A year, at the most." The next thing she heard was the quiet click of the door sliding into place.

* * *

Draco looked out of the window at the moving fields, disinterested by the scenery but would have preferred to watch it than listen to the rest of the Slytherins make dim-witted comments every now and then in another pointless conversation they were having. He rested his chin on the heel of his hand, his eyes drooping as he continued to watch the world outside.

"You know the Heads share a common room?" Blaise asked, mainly directing the question at Draco. There were mutters of agreement from the rest of them, and he realised they were all staring at him, waiting for a response.

He flared his nostrils, frustrated that he was wasting his time with these people. Blaise was the only one that he could deal with. "Yeah."

"Bet you'll get ten times more girls with the added factor of having your own common room, eh?" He nudged him in the elbows, and Draco fought the urge to get his wand out. They continued with another conversation when they realised Malfoy wasn't in the mood, and it gave him the chance to get away from them quickly.

Draco slipped out of the compartment swiftly, seeking solitude and unseen by the rest of his peers. He leant against the body of the train, surveying the rest of the school as if it was his own. Slightly wavy hair, now without so much gel, black-clad arms and feet crossed, he oozed sophistication. Or so he thought. He noticed a Weasley approaching his end of the train, and he moved into the middle of the train so that his figure was blocking their way. Ron was storming down the length of the train, his fiery red hair flapping against the wind he was creating, his eyes fuming. He was past the stage where he was upset, or rather, he had skipped that stage. Now, he was livid.

"What's got your knickers in a twist, Weasel?" Draco spat, a little fractious himself at the Weasley to be interrupting his alone time.

Ron, now past Malfoy, swirled round, his fists clenched. Draco was taken aback, all of a sudden curious as to what _had_ annoyed him. "_Piss_ off, Malfoy. You had better stay out of my way."

"Now, now, Weasley. That sort of language could get you Gryffindor angels in _minus_ points! Is that a first?"

"You're not a prefect. You can't dock points. Now get out of my way."

Draco blocked him from moving any further. He nodded, eyes wide, agreeing with Ron patronizingly. "No, I'm not a prefect, that's true." He paused, cherishing Ron's bewilderment. It had not dawned on him yet, and that made Draco enjoy this even more.

"But I am Head Boy."

* * *

"You haven't told her yet, have you?"

Hermione glanced up to see Ron and Harry awaiting an answer. "Hm...who? Ginny?"

"No, Voldemort." Ron dead-panned, hesitating as he tested the waters. His pathetic attempt at a sarcastic comment was abandoned when no one responded. Harry didn't even bother punching him in the arm, instead, he pushed his food around his plate with a fork.

She was not keen to eat, either, and slid her plate away from her with the back of her hand. "I've not seen her yet, we normally unpack together. She doesn't even know I'm Head Girl, though, so I'll need to tell her too."

"Okay." It was apparent that they didn't want to talk to her. Or anyone, for that matter.

She picked up the textbooks that she had scattered across the table, slipping them under her arm and getting to her feet. They didn't move, or even acknowledge her start to exit. "Look. I don't want my next few months," Harry grimaced, "to be worsened by your shitty moods. I know what I've just told you is big news, believe you me, I know. But I want to spend my last year with my friends, having fun and acting normal. I'm making an effort, so that when it comes to the end, I won't feel like I just sat here and did nothing as you two fended for me and assisted me on my way up to my dormitory. Is that clear?" They both nodded.

"So, you don't mind if neither one of us walks you upstairs? We've got bloody Quidditch practise."

She grins, unable to control herself. "Absolutely not."

* * *

"What?" The look on her face was enough to shatter Hermione's hopes of Ginny ever getting over this.

She moved towards the bed, a baby blue cotton shirt frozen in the grasp of her hand. Still staring at Hermione, she dropped onto the mattress, finally releasing the garment. Her hand was now at her mouth, the tears spilling over, and she didn't even attempt to wipe them away. The tears that had clogged Hermione's throat and shaken her voice since said those three small words were now flowing freely. She touched Ginny's shoulder, but she flinched. Her insides squeezed and contracted, and she felt like there was nothing she could have done at that moment, than to just sit next to Ginny, letting her know she was still there. "I'm sorry, it's terrible." She choked, but her voice was unequivocal.

"This can't be happening." The youngest Weasley said softly, but her voice grew. "Why didn't you owl me? How long have you known? This _cannot_ be happening. No. We're witches, surely there's a way of concocting a potion that will help cure you, or at least prolong the time you have—" her hand was against her heart. "Merlin... how long have you got?"

"Ginny—"

"Hermione, don't beat around the bush. You need to tell me."

"Less than a year."

Everything happened in slow motion then, Ginny dropped to the floor in horror, her knees buckling as everything she had been thinking of relied on the answer to that question, and it was worse than she had been expecting. The collar of her shirt was soaked in tears and her whole face was wet. Hermione hadn't shed quite so many tears, as she had become accustomed to the reactions that people had when she told them, and had somehow managed to not cry as much purely because she hated seeing people upset – especially because of her.

She rushed to Ginny's side, squeezing her hand in hers. And they both sat there on the cold, wooden floor. Their palms connected, their hearts broken.

It was the saddest moment Hermione Granger had ever experienced since the war.

She thought it would never change.

* * *

**A/N: **Don't forget to review and tell me your thoughts! Even if you hated it, tell me!


	3. Maybe

**Author's Note: **Thank you for the reviews! It really does help and encourage me to know that people are actually taking an interest. Thank you especially to **Nala Moon**, it's great to know that the things I'm writing are having an impact on your emotions! And **Voorpret**, you'll have to wait and see! I'm in the process of deciding the fate of Draco and Hermione's relationship at the end...

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

Hermione found two seats in the back of the classroom for when Ginny arrived, so that they would not be disturbed when she showed her the list. Since not as many students had come back to complete their final year, Hermione's year and Ginny's year were mixed, making the two classmates for certain classes. Ginny hadn't arrived yet, so it gave her time to think about what to say, and speculate whether or not Ginny would agree to help her. She was having doubts, despite them being best friends. She would have quite liked to have asked Harry and Ron, but she didn't think this was the type of thing they'd have wanted to be involved in, and besides, they would have approached it differently, _especially_ the fourth one on the list.

"Welcome, welcome, welcome to Potions!" Hermione looked up at Professor Slughorn and sighed, resting her head atop of her palm, her eyes were closing, slowly but surely.

"Today, we will be studying the Weedosoros potion." He gleamed when Harry and Ginny walked through the door, both of them looking considerably flustered - whether this was from rushing to class or something else, was unknown. Ginny slipped into the seat next to Hermione and nudged her in the elbows, murmuring her name. "Now, can anyone tell me what this potion does?"

The whole class was silent. Ginny looked at Hermione, a hopeful look on her face. "Ms. Granger, I'm certain you will be able to tell me something about it!"

The entire student body shifted in their seats so they could look at Hermione, some lackluster, some expectant. She cast a glance around the room, but her eyes stopped and stared at someone. His platinum hair standing out, the only person that was facing the front of the room. His gaze fixed on the bubbling potion in the cauldron, it was the first time she had seen him since the term had started. They hadn't even greeted each other as Heads, she felt like this should have occurred by now. Her own eyes had begun to glaze over, and it was the sort of moment where one cannot seem to stop gaping at something, even if they wish to. Ginny had bumped and elbowed her in the ribs several times now, and even Horace Slughorn was launching into impatience.

"I'm sorry, Professor, but I don't know."

It was these seven words that had made Draco Malfoy turn round, and look at Hermione right in the eye. A blank expression on his face, but he looked at her. She forced herself to look away, but found that she had not needed to, because when she looked back, he was no longer looking. Malfoy had looked at her, even if his vacant expression had spoken nothing to her, he had looked at her without hatred or revulsion. And that meant something to her. She had come to believe that the fourth point on her list was maybe, just maybe, an achievable aspiration.

"How are you feeling today?" A small voice beside her asked.

She looked at Ginny, "I'm fine, Gin, really. I would tell you if any symptoms had started to kick in."

"Make that a promise. What are the symptoms?" She was hesitant when asking this, and wondered whether she shouldn't have asked. "It's fine if you don't want to talk about it—"

Hermione frowned, "no, it's alright. I get very feverish during the night, so that's hard to cope with, but it's not too bad. And because it's a special form of Osteosarcoma, the tumor's on my hip, so it really only bothers me when I'm walking." Ginny pursed her lips and looked down. "There are other mild symptoms like fatigue and swelling, but that's pretty much it. That's all the Doctor has told me."

Ginny didn't reply, because she thought there was nothing to reply with. She only placed her hand on Hermione's back and rubbed, hoping this would convey the sympathy that she was feeling towards her. Hermione wasonly being strong, because she didn't want pity; she didn't want commiseration and the kindness that people were going to give her, guaranteed. She wanted someone, anyone, to make her feel like she wasn't inferior to them, like she wasn't small and unable to do anything. Ginny sensed that she was finished with this topic of conversation, and swiftly moved onto a different one.

"Do you have any ideas of what you'll be doing as Head Girl?" Half listening to Ginny, and half listening to Slughorn, Hermione moved towards the cupboards and collected the ingredients they needed to make the potion. They both stood up, reading from the textbook and obeying the instructions.

She dropped a handful of Hellebore in the cauldron, before glimpsing at Ginny. "I suspect we will be doing rounds, and bossing the prefects about as we wish to. Probably, Malfoy will be doing most of that."

Ginny laughed, "Oh, please, Hermione. I highly doubt you'll be refraining from the opportunity to boss people about and not get any grief from it!"

Hermione gave her a mock-seething look, "McGonagall hasn't told us to do anything in particular, but it's early days. I've heard a rumour there's going to be a Halloween Ball, and that I'll have to organize it, which will be delightful. Gin, you have help me with that, I'm not sure that's exactly Malfoy's forte." They both smiled, and Ginny was glad that Hermione was showing signs of positivity, even if she was showing it as a pathetically attempted façade. "So, I have something to ask you-" She was interrupted by Slughorn, and halted from rummaging through her bags.

"Everyone take your seats!" They had finished creating the potion, so they sat back down. "Every one of you has achieved a perfect or near-perfect potion, so this is very encouraging! Well done to all. There will be no homework to do." The class perked up at this, however, Hermione's mood deepened, as she realized with no homework, there would be nothing to distract herself with. She sighed. "You may all leave. Don't forget your textbooks; you'll need them a lot this year!"

As they left, Hermione was stopped by a familiar voice. Groaning, she set a sweet smile on her face and turned on the balls of her feet, Ginny by her side. "What's up with you today, Granger? Lost your tongue?"

"You're taking an interest in me?"

Malfoy slumped, his crew stepping behind him. "Oh, Granger. So self-absorbed, it's almost embarrassing."

"That may be, but the fact that you were asking clarifies that you're obviously not as self-absorbed as you like people to think you are. Merlin... Malfoy, do you... do you have a heart?" Her mock-surprise expression left her face instantly, and she turned to leave. She couldn't be bothered with their paltry remarks to each other, which rarely meant anything to either of them. He had just then confirmed that her fourth point was maybe not so achievable as she thought.

"Granger-"

Her hair swirled as she whipped her body around to face him, wobbling slightly on her poor leg. He caught the stumble and a smirk tugged at his lips. "Malfoy! I completely and utterly do not want to be dealing with this right now! And to think that I thought we could be at least a tiny bit civil to each other, is now - as I have just realised - beyond ridiculous. For once in your life, could you not just try to consider others and think maybe, just maybe they have other things to handle aside from responding to your preposterous statements every other hour of the day? Merlin's Beard, Malfoy, I thought we would be past this by now!" Her wand was out, and her cheeks were pink with anger. Malfoy had not been expecting this sort of reaction from her and neither had the various spectators that had gathered to watch from the sidelines.

Ginny touched Hermione's arm, leading her up the stairs and into the common room.

Diffident, Ginny was unsure as to whether Hermione was still heated up. She was pacing round the room at an abnormal pace, her hands on her hips. "You really had a go at him there. Has something happened between you two?"

"What? Hm? Nothing. No. You know what he's like, he pushes me to the limit and I can't help getting very angry with him for doing so. Why can't he leave me alone? What, exactly, Ginny, is so appealing about me that makes him want to throw stupid remarks at me every time I'm within a 50 meter radius of him?"

Ginny bit back a smile. "I don't know. It's probably just your parents, 'Mione."

"He doesn't even call me Mudblood any more, he just does it for the kicks." She collapsed onto the couch next to Ginny, bringing her bag up onto her lap. She checked again that the room was empty, before slipping out the list. Ginny didn't retaliate to her declaration, so she continued on.

"I meant to ask you before, but I got distracted." She held the paper to her chest, gripping it tightly, as if it was the most important thing she had held in a while. "Ginny, I made a list of things I'd like to do before I die. A bucket list, if you will. I want to make the most of these next few months, because I don't have a clue when I won't be here, and that scares me to death." She smiled sadly at this expression. Ginny was looking at her, her chin trembling and her forehead crinkled. She passed it over to her, watching her as she read it. "I was hoping you'd help me with it."

There was a deafening silence before Ginny spoke. "Only five things on here? 'Mione, that's pathetic." Her voice broke. "We'll do all of these and think of some more to add on, you need to make the most of the time you have left." Ginny smiled, but the falseness behind the forced grin came through so blatantly, the mask crumbled in front of Hermione like a house of cards. Hermione wrapped her arms around Ginny and whispered a thank you in her ear, before her voice cracked and her throat constricted, and she wasn't able to speak words.

* * *

Malfoy had clearly had an early night when Hermione arrived at their common room. His door was closed, which was a unambiguous sign that he did not want to be disturbed. She was having difficulty walking up the stairs to their shared room, so when she was stood facing the steps up into her bedroom, she was more than unhappy about it, and would have quite liked a nice, strong man to carry her up there. She took it one step at a time, her palm flat against the cool stone wall just beside her. The pain shot up her leg at lightning speed, but she braved it up to the top, and collapsed onto her bed, absolutely shattered. Thinking she would fall asleep instantly when her head hit the pillow, she quickly undressed and lay down in just her underwear. She didn't fall asleep. Thoughts were racing through her mind, but all she could focus on was the date that her life was meant to end. She didn't know when it was, and that troubled her. No, it didn't upset her, it aggravated her. Everything had to be in place, everything had to be set in stone, she liked her things organized and ready so that if there ever was contingency, she would have a plan. There was no 'Plan B' this time; there was nothing, that wasn't even possible. The fact that there would be no time and place for this happening made her feel somewhat exasperated, because it could happen anywhere. For all she knew, she could be alone in the dormitory with no-one but Draco Malfoy in the room connected. Hermione scrunched her eyes closed, longing for all these worries to disappear.

She was cold, but too hot under the covers. The position that the doctor had recommended for sleeping to achieve minimum leg pain was the position she least liked, but was in too much agony to sleep any other way. Nothing was right, and she couldn't win. The skin above her lip had beads of sweat resting on it, but her forearms were scattered with goose bumps.

She flicked the lamp on and off, her eyes readjusting. Moving her legs off the bed, she grabbed the book on top of the pile on her desk and tiptoed downstairs. After pacing about the room, she eventually made herself somewhat comfortable on the deep-buttoned couch, resting on a stiff cushion that was clearly adorned more for style than for comfort. She dropped her head back onto the arm of the sofa, relishing the new-found coolness of the leather material on her clammy skin. Having picked up Advanced Potion-making on her way down here, she was curious as to whether there were any cures for cancer or an illness of that type. She knew the probability of finding anything in the book was less than likely, but she had nothing to lose. Her eyes started to droop as she flicked through the chapters, but she was determined to stay awake.

Doing the worst thing she possibly could have done in that moment, she shifted so that her body was on its side, her head on the cushion and her right forearm draped round the top of the book to prevent it from falling. The instant in which she looked down to read the book, was the moment her whole body shut down, and her eyelids truly could not stop from dropping, and she surrendered.

* * *

**A/N: **Don't forget to review! :)


	4. Outrun The Sun

**A/N: **_The small italic paragraph is in the past when Hermione told Ginny about her bucketlist in the common room. _So I sort of bent the rules for this chapter, because the time-turner doesn't works this way, but basically Hermione and Ginny go back to the day before, and then when they're satisfied, they use it to go forward in time to when they went back. All of this will become clear when you read it. I know in the books they only go back 2 or 3 hours and they just wait until the time is up, but I had to give myself a little leeway for this chapter, so I apologise if it's confusing and please do tell me if it is! I hope it's pretty self-explanatory, though.

Also, I've been testing the waters with the chapter length and I feel that the 2.5/3K mark is what seems the easiest for me, and it's not too long or too short. Any advice/feedback on that?

Thank you for all the reviews! They make me very happy!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

He woke up and kicked away the covers. His eyes wouldn't open properly so he rubbed at them with such vigour that his vision was blurred with colourful swirls and stars. Much unlike his life. Dark, murky and sinister. Flinging his legs off the bed, he straightened out his pyjama bottoms and stumbled out the room. It was six o'clock in the morning, and he knew that if he tried to go back to bed, his efforts would be severely unsuccessful. A quick drink of pumpkin juice and he was prepared for the second day of Hogwarts Hell. It had seemed that as Draco had progressed through the years, his dislike for the school and its' pupils had grown with him, reaching him to the point where he was truly jaded of it and would have quite liked to leave and hibernate in a secret place far, far away. His lack of fondness for the school had not stemmed from nothing, so the fact that all he had was bad memories from start to finish probably was a contributing factor.

He thought this through as he showered, running his hands through his hair until it was spiky and strands stuck out in all directions. Draco had woken up in a terrible mood, and usually, a shower would sort this out. He could stand naked on the marble floor underneath the hot stream, silent as the steam enveloped his body and the silky water softened his skin. Something about this way of washing was much more satisfying than any other way. It was like the time before one sleeps, where they think things over too much, but is also somehow fulfilling. It felt like one of the places where he could get away and not be disturbed.

Expecting Hermione to be sound asleep on her bed, he sauntered into the main living room with just a mere towel around his waist. He leapt back when he became aware of the body lying on the sofa and his wand was immediately in his hand, the towel covering his nakedness hanging literally by a thread on his hip. His arms outstretched, he peered at her, an eyebrow raised. "Granger." The soft snoring coming from her mouth stopped, his eyes widened.

She was curled in a ball, her hair draped over her face so that it could not be seen from afar. One arm had fallen off the sofa and was grazing the ground with her fingertips, the other coiled round a book, their Potions textbook it seemed, gripping it as if it was the one thing she owned. He rolled his eyes, adjusting the towel and stepping back to sit on the other sofa. The manner in which the two sofas had been positioned, in an 'L' shape instead of opposites, meant that he could stare intently right at her, without it looking too odd or too disturbing. Smirking slightly, he pulled the book from her clutch and read it. It appeared that she had been studying on Antidotes, which was funny, because they hadn't received any homework for their class yesterday. He tossed the book aside; forcing himself up to get dressed. It was at that moment when she woke up, her arm grabbed at the towel that he was wearing.

"M...Malfoy?" Her muffled words were lost in translation as her face was buried in the cushion. "Malfoy." Her petite fingers pinched the towel.

"Granger!" Draco hissed, backing away. A bad idea, as her grasp was tight. He ripped it out of her fingers, furious, "_get_ off me, you _vile_ thing!"

Her eyes flashed open. She looked alarmed for a moment, no doubt questioning what had just happened. "I'm sorry. I was half-asl—" her voice trailed off as she looked at him for the first time. Really looked at him. Gulping at his shirtless torso and the feelings that has just emerged for no apparent reason, she swiftly looked away. He crossed his arms.

"Could you possibly repeat that? I didn't hear you." He cocked his head to the side.

Stubbornly, she sighed. "I hadn't woken up properly. I apologise for nearly pulling off your towel."

He huffed and stomped away, grabbing the nearest bottle of juice and downing it as he walked to his bedroom. Somehow, she couldn't get the image of him standing in front of her dressed like that, out of her head. He just looked mildly attractive for a minute there... only for a minute.

* * *

Hermione was walking down the corridor up to the Astronomy Tower when a hand gripped her robes and pulled her into an empty classroom. Rolling her eyes, she looked at the red-headed girl. "Was there any need to whisk me off into another room?"

Ginny giggled. "Sorry, I've always wanted to do that. Like it was top secret, kinda stuff." She paused. "You're alright, though? I didn't do any—"

"I'm fine!" Hermione snapped. Her face softened when she realised Ginny had recoiled, releasing Hermione's robes from her grasp and biting her lip. "Sorry, it's been a rough day and it's _only_ 10 o'clock. What did you want?"

"The boys aren't around, and we're not doing anything, so I figured we could get started on that list of yours." She grinned like a maniac. "Number 1: Use the time-turner for no reason in particular."

**Earlier**

_"Let me think about this. _You _would like to go back in time using a forbidden time-turner? I'm hearing this right, aren't I?" Ginny was genuinely confused. This _was_ very out of character for Hermione._

_Sighing, Hermione pressed on. "Ginny, I've already told you the reasons for doing this. Anyway, McGonagall has completely forgotten I still have it, and technically, the Ministry allowed me to do this. It was just a few years ago that they gave me permission."_

_"Yeah, that was for classes, not for bloody recreational purposes!"_

_"Trust you to be level-headed at the most unnecessary time, Ginny!" Hermione was stuffing the list back into her bag, and had thrown a spell towards the fire to heat it up. Having a free lesson with Ginny whilst no one else did was something that they both cherished. __"Would you like to join me? I just want to use it, one more time, before giving it back."_

_Ginny bit her lip, clearly resisting the urge and finding it difficult. "Fine. I'd better go with you, considering apparently now you're reckless and irresponsible!"_

_Hermione smirked, "good. I don't have a particular moment to go back to, though, because nothing exciting has happened as such."_

_"Wait, do you actually want to change something?"_

_"No, I thought it would be sort of exciting, to do something like this when no one knows. Don't you think?"_

_Ginny frowned, "if you say so. Maybe we should go back to just before, your argument with Malfoy. I'd like to hear what his posse have to say to him after you completely annihilated him with that rant of yours!"_

_Hermione laughed, but was secretly eager at the thought of this. "Yeah, we should do that."_

**Now**

"So, we'll allow ourselves... an hour, say? That'll give us enough time. Are you excited?" Hermione had taken the necklace out of the special box Professor McGonagall had given her five years ago, she was clasping it round both of their necks as they spoke.

"I am, actually!"

"Okay so I'm going to twist it round, so that we go back to yesterday. It'll take us to during my argument with Malfoy. We have to make sure our past selves don't see us. Ready?"

"Ready." Ginny whispered.

And suddenly, there were flown off their feet, the corridor and whole world around them dissolving into nothing. They could see the faint shapes of things, but the blurred outlines of those shapes prevented them from seeing what they were. Ginny's hand was gripping Hermione's with all the might she could muster, she was afraid of what might've happened if she had let go. Then unexpectedly, they were on their feet, the floor solid, the world back to normal. Except they were standing in the corridor outside their Potions classroom, and Hermione's past self was having words with Malfoy.

"Malfoy, do you... do you have a heart?" She was looking around in mock-disbelief, people in the crowds were raising eyebrows.

The current Hermione was staring at her old self, mesmerised. Her cheeks were tinged pink as she turned round to look at Ginny. "I don't half look like a dimwit, Ginny! Why didn't you stop me?" Ginny ushered her over so that they could watch from the corner.

Past-Hermione had now gone into the full-blown tirade, flinging her arms about as Malfoy cowered.

"Do I really look like that when I'm angry?" Hermione's head dropped in astoundment into her hands, her voice muffled as she spoke further. "Look at my hair, Ginny, look at it. Oh Merlin... my skirts half-rolled up at the side, I didn't even notice! I'm surprised Malfoy didn't pick up on that. I'm such an idiot!"

"Hermione, no-one was thinking about that. I think the outburst was more astonishing, not the lack of neatness of your skirt! Look, they're going back to the common room. Malfoy and Co. are coming this way!" Hermione peeped at the hallway through her fingers, her face falling as she saw Malfoy walking right past them. "We have to be careful about this. 'Mione, you go first, stay back, though. I'm right next to you." They listened in to the conversation, hanging back so they weren't caught. It seemed that Blaise, Theo and Malfoy were the leaders of the pack, the others stumbling behind, breathlessly trying to get a word in to impress the trio.

"Seriously, Draco. Why do you let Granger get to you? You've been acting really weird lately. You get so worked up when she's around."

"Blaise, I swear, if you don't back off..." Malfoy shoved at Blaise's shoulder.

Blaise, reciprocating with a blow to the stomach, growled. "I'm not fucking around, Malfoy. You've been a real arsehole lately. Ignoring us, sitting in the dorm when we're in the common room trying to have a good time. This is our last bloody year, Draco. Can't you be a little less hostile towards us and at least _pretend_ you want to be civil?"

Malfoy drove him into the wall, his forearm parallel to Zabini's chest, trapping him. "Don't you dare talk to me like that, Zabini. I have been nothing but pleasant to you over the years, you ought to be grateful I ever _spoke _to you."

"Guys, come on. Break it up." Theo was tugging at Malfoy's arm, urging him to release Blaise. "Can we talk about this later? Blaise and I have Defence. See you, Draco."

Malfoy didn't reply, he simply twisted on the balls of his feet and pursued the opposite corridor to them. Both Hermione and Ginny instinctively followed him, trailing his path in silence. He reached the dungeons, his large stride helping him get there quickly, not to mention the frenzied determination that raged in his eyes. He stood outside the door of the Slytherin Common Room, but didn't seem to be ready to go in. Instead, he paced before the large, intricate entrance, running a hand through his blond hair. Ginny stood, eye balling the chilled wall and dragging a palm over the labyrinthine pattens engraved into it. Hermione, however, was rendered numb as she gazed at Draco, somehow his hacked demeanour was capturing her in a way she could not comprehend. "Is he okay?"

Ginny snapped her heads towards Hermione. Was she asking her? Ginny didn't know. She watched as Hermione slowly edged her way towards Draco, whether she was aware of this or not. She was somehow drawn to him like a moth to a flame. "Hermione." Ginny hissed, attempting to speak tacitly but loud enough so that her magnetised friend could hear her. "_Hermione_!"

She had finally caught her attention. Hermione stumbled, her back hitting the wall, as if she didn't realise she had been moving. "We should-" It was at that moment that Draco's fist collided with a stone pillar. His curses, they were sure, could probably be heard deep within the depths of his Common Room and through the winding corridors of Hogwarts. The crunch of his knuckles against the wall made the two girls wince. Unusually concerned, they gawped at Malfoy. Nursing and cradling his clenched (now injured) hand in the other, he finally muttered the password at the dungeon door entryway and blundered through it.

* * *

Strolling back, they had still time to kill, and were curious as to what to do with it. Ginny had suggested creeping on Harry and Ron in their Defence Against The Dark Arts class, but they both realised this would achieve nothing, and decided against it. They couldn't go back to the common room, to their disappointment, because their past-selves were already there. So, they spent the next hour in the past wandering around the school, in the hope they would find something interesting.

Hermione kicked away crisping leaves at her feet as they rambled through Hogwarts' grounds. "How are you and Harry?"

Ginny brightened, "we're great." She nodded, "he's great." She pressed her lips together, as if suddenly remembering something troublesome. "I understand you and Ron split."

Hermione dropped her head slightly. "Yeah. It just wasn't... clicking. No sparks." She looked at Ginny, "you know? It would have been nice if it had worked out, I think. Despite annoying me half the time, Ronald's lovely."

Ginny turned to respond, when they heard voices. Inching forward, the two girls were intrigued by what they were hearing. Ginny, fervently rushing to the source of noise, poked her head round the corner. Hermione watched her expression as if to decipher what was happening. Grinning, Ginny nudged her. Hermione beamed at the sight she was witnessing.

"Well, I-I think you're beautiful."

"That's very sweet of you, Neville."

Neville and Luna seemed to be shrouded in their own invisible bubble as they embraced each other with such love and affection. He had her small hands in his, looking into her eyes like there was nothing else existing but her. The girls felt like they had interrupted something almost confidential and intimate, and immediately withdrew from the scene. They could still hear their warm-hearted voices as they walked away. Ginny began to unravel the necklace from her pocket and fasten it around their necks. "Ready?" She didn't give time for Hermione to answer, for she turned it as she spoke, and they were propelled into a different realm as they launched forward in time to reach the point at which they went back.

Hermione turned to Ginny, "why can't I find someone like that? Why _can't _I have a relationship that lasts, a relationship that means everything to me."

"You're blinded by the past."

"_What?_" Hermione, despite being tagged with the Head Girl role, stopped in her tracks and was utterly perplexed at what Ginny had said. "What on _earth _is that supposed to mean?"

"I'm not quite sure. It just came out of my mouth. Nevermind."

But Ginny had caught Hermione in quite a moment, and those five words had stumped her. As she lay in bed that night, she couldn't cease to think about anything other than what Ginny had said that morning. Clasping her hands on her stomach, she glared at the ceiling in the hope that it might give her some answers.

It didn't. So she fell asleep.

* * *

**A/N: **If you just read the chapter and are confused about the time-turner (and skimmed over my note at the start), then go read the A/N at the top, it explains it. Please review. :)


	5. Tights

**A/N**: All the reviews make me so happy. Thank you so much! I'm enjoying writing this story so far, which is interesting for me because that's never happened with any of my other pieces. I hope you like this next chapter!

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Harry Potter, JK. Rowling does.

* * *

"Morning, Malfoy."

He provided a grunt in response, which was a clear sign that he was lacking in motivation to be civil with her today. She reciprocated, giving him a hearty sigh, displaying her annoyance. Draco glanced up at her slightly, a leer certainly yanking at his lips. Hermione wrenched the small refrigerator open and bent down to grab a carton of milk. They had been given the liberty of a kettle and mini-fridge along with their badges, to make sure that they had the necessities for their common room. Hermione, however, wasn't too keen on it, as it just reminded her that she was still living with Malfoy, and that the manner in which they were living (equipped with kitchen appliances) was that of a way a couple or a family would.

"McGonagall sent an owl this morning, we're to start our rounds tonight and we'll be doing the third floor. We have to pair up the prefects and assign them an area, too. I'm sure you'll abuse that opportunity."

Hermione, previously reading the Daily Prophet, whipped it down onto the counter and stared at Draco. "I'm sorry?"

"Just that I know you won't be quivering in the corner of the room at the thought of bossing people about." Hermione was used to comments like this from friends and family, but from Malfoy, she was _not_ having it.

"Malfoy, I was prepared to let our argument the other day _go_." This wasn't a complete lie. When Hermione had woken up, she was all set to be somewhat friendly and slightly sympathetic towards him, considering the breakdown he had had yesterday, which unfortunately, she had witnessed. "I _was_ ready to forget the whole thing, and just start over again! Once again, you go and destroy _any_ hope of us ever talking to each other in anything other than a nasty way. I'm completely and utterly sick of it. Do you enjoy jeering at me all the time? Do you? Do you _cherish_ these moments and think about them when you lie in bed at night, lapping up the cheers and approval from those insufferable cronies of yours?" He was staring at her the whole time, astonished. "Well?"

Pulling himself up from the couch, he straightened. Draco ran a hand through his hair and headed in the direction of Hermione. He reached an arm around her slim frame, curling his fingers round the handle of the fridge. His stare was penetrating, his eyes were icy. She was fully aware of her caught breath and dry throat. She suddenly realised whenever he was around her, the tension was high, and she was agitated. Not scared, yet anxious.

He leant in, daggers for eyes. Her eyes focused on a miniscule hair on his shirt-clad shoulder. The urge to brush it off was irresistible. And then he breathed, almost as if he wanted her to crumble beneath him. The distinctive smell of coffee on his breath, the crisp-scented soap clinging to the cotton on his clothes. Musky cologne was lingering in the air because of his very presence. She made a mistake, she made the mistake of inhaling his scent.

She parted her lips with difficulty, as they had adhered to each other rather tightly in the midst of all this. Gripping the edge of the counter, she flicked her eyes towards Draco's. And he whispered, very slowly, in her ear.

"Rounds, Granger. 7 o'clock. Third floor. Late, and I'll start without you."

He jerked the refrigerator door open, pulled out a chocoball and tossed it into his mouth. Hermione watched, astonished, as he sauntered up into his room.

* * *

Hermione was sat at her desk, inspecting her knee. The swelling and redness had increased dramatically in the past few days, and was now obvious to anyone seeing her legs from a close distance. This wasn't to be taken lightly. She now had an excuse to wear thick tights, as they were approaching the winter months, but it still embarrassed her, even when she was alone, she was ashamed. The mere sight of her leg could spring tears to her eyes, because it was a constant reminder of her illness. Though she tried to forget, the medicine and symptoms were continuously on her mind. Trying to do normal, mundane things that might distract her seemed out of the question; she would always have to have more consideration about her health and well-being. She would always have to be careful.

She rummaged through her drawers to find a pair of tights. There didn't appear to be any, so she tried her wardrobe, in the hope that she had flung them in there in a hasty moment. She knew that wouldn't have happened. Scanning the room, she felt herself get more frustrated. She was a hundred percent sure she had packed some.

"_Malfoy_!" She wrapped her robes around her whole body, holding the fabric tightly as she rushed down the steps to their living area. "Malfoy, you haven't seen any tights, have you?"

"Sorry, I'm not sure where you chucked them when you were undressing yourself for Weasley." He didn't look up, but she could almost hear the smirk in his voice.

She reddened and the heightened frustration had brought a beetroot-tinge to her embarrassment and cheeks. "_Malfoy, _did you not listen to _anything _I said this morning? You are _so_ bloody exasperating! Now, where - are – my – tights?" She punctuated each word with swinging hand gestures. Draco was becoming bored of her wearisome attitude.

"Granger, how should I know where your bloody undergarments are?"

"You are _such _an intolerable twat. Maybe you'd seen them, _that's _why I was asking." She was pacing around the room, her sighs and groans had begun to bother Draco.

He stood up. "_Merlin, _Granger. Sit down. _I'll_ bloody find them." As she watched him disappear through the door, Hermione stifled an embittered cry. He was storming back out of the bathroom holding a pair of socks, when he heard her sniffling. "Couldn't find them. However, these were hanging over the sides of the bath." He paused and peered at her face. "You're crying because of a pair of tights?" He threw them at her, before sitting back down and continuing with his reading.

"I'll have you know, Malfoy, that it is _not_ the tights I'm crying about. I wouldn't expect you to care, anyway."

He didn't answer, because he didn't expect himself to, either.

* * *

The classroom held a vibration, one of promise and imagination. Professor McGonagall, donned in emerald tartan robes ornamented with ornate brooches and pins, held herself in front of the class. Her arm was outstretched towards the blackboard, a gnarled finger pointing. "We will be going straight into Transubstantial Transformation this term. Can anyone tell me what this is?"

Draco flicked through his textbook, ignoring the Professor's tedious drawl. "Yes, Ms. Granger?" He found himself looking at Hermione as she answered the question. He tried to decipher the emotion coursing through his bones, but couldn't disentangle the feelings that he had brought himself upon when he had lifted his gaze to her. Draco examined the curve of her upper lip as she spoke, and the way it sloped down and met a proud bottom lip. She was moving her mouth, saying something, but the sounds weren't registering in his brain. He couldn't take his own off her fiery russet eyes, a deep and lustrous darkness, well-framed with a set of thick, dirty-blonde eyelashes. He dreamily laced his long fingers in his hair. His was fine and pearl-white, a defiant emblem of his family. It was much unlike Hermione's, which she had nearly managed to tame in the last few years. Not today, today she hadn't put an effort in, it seemed. It was thrown back off her forehead, an old plait lost in its tangled mess. He frowned.

"Thank you, Ms. Granger. Now, we will be learning about Metamorphmagi. A witch or wizard that has the ability to change their physical appearance at will. They can take many forms, such as changing their gender or age, or even just a single part of their appearance."

"This is ridiculous. Shouldn't we be learning how to _take on_ an animagus form? It's our last bloody year." Draco whispered to Blaise, leaning in so he could hear properly.

"I know. I might drop it if it continues to be this boring. Let's not forget fucking Granger's in our class. It's bad enough sitting near her in Potions."

Draco lowered his eyes, "I know, right, and I have to bloody _live _with her."

"Ron, will you pass me that ink pot? By the Slytherins. Mine's run out."

"Let me just finish this paragraph."

Hermione rolled her eyes, "it's fine, that could take forever. I'll do it." Heaving herself from the stool, she stood up and focused on the needed ink pot. She began to move her legs, one by one, slightly pulling at her robes so they covered her swollen knee. She had managed to wrench the socks up so that they reached halfway up her kneecap, but kept riding down when she moved. Unaware of the Slytherins insulting her as she shuffled past, Hermione felt a foot feeling her shin and she looked down to shove it away. Unexpectedly, she had regrettably moved as it touched her and found herself staring nose-down on the cold, stone floor. She let out a whimper as pain shot up her hurting legs.

"Get up, Granger." Hermione pushed away the matt of hair concealing her vision and peered at Malfoy. He was sending her curious looks.

"Was that you?" she asked.

"It was me." Her head whipped round to look vituperatively at Crabbe. She had begun to get up and brush her clothes down. In the depths of all this, the Slytherins sat at the desk in front of her were gaping at her exposed knee. "Did I do that?" Crabbe was eyeing it, his nose and mouth scrunched up as he looked, nonplussed. There was a chortle from behind their desk from a fellow Hufflepuff. People were gathering to inspect her leg, stretching in their seats to get a look.

"Mr. Crabbe. I would like to see you at the end of the lesson. Ms. Granger, are you alright?" Everyone turned to Hermione, awaiting an answer for McGonagall.  
With her two best friends standing beside her, she concentrated on ceasing the quaking of her chin and the flaring of her nostrils. She knew that if she opened her mouth and tried to her speak, her attempts would be abolished by the itching in her throat and the impending and threatening teardrops.

Harry noticed this, "she's fine. Can we take her to Madam Pomfrey?"

All the while, Draco had been staring inquisitively at the Head Girl, frequently glancing at her battered knee in the process.

"By all means. Potter, you can take her." The Professor turned to Ron, who was looking dejected. "Weasley, you aren't needed. Everyone take your seats." She paused, when no-one responded. Now!"

* * *

Her eagle-feather quill set down next to a roll of parchment, Hermione stared at the blank page. Her eyes were focused on the leather-bound textbook staring back at her on the desk, but she couldn't seem to write anything. The illness had noticeably taken its toll on her but she had refused to believe that anything was happening to her; her mannerisms; her appearance; her anything. The people closest to her were witnessing it. They were witnessing Hermione disintegrating, observing as she falls apart. The worst thing was, they could do nothing about it and that made it much more agonising. So it was out of their hands.

Draco watched her quietly with a book resting on his forearm. She wasn't aware of his being there. The past few days, they had been civil to each other during the moments when they were together. With his friends and fellow Slytherins, Draco was inimical towards her, a side of him that Hermione knew very well. This was very unlike the times when they were alone, when he was courteous and somewhat understanding.

Hermione wasn't working, she never was. Her mind was wandering, a tad like her life - it wasn't really there anymore. Physically, she was perched in the library chair and was tapping her feet on the wooden floor beneath her. Emotionally, she lay in a hospital bed awaiting her death and the only sound to be heard was the hushed bleeping of a heart montior, as if a countdown to the day she wouldn't be present.

Draco managed to hoist himself up from the seat without her noticing the manouvre, and trundled by the bookshelf behind her table. Plucking a dusted book from the vast quanitity with his fingers, extra long at the joints; he observed her, for a reason he could not muster. He let out a slow, measured breath as she subconsciously brought her fingernails into her mouth and nibbled.

He frowned and stepped before the shelf, his eyes fallen onto the yellowing pages of the novel. "You're not writing anything, Granger."

She snapped her head towards him and shot him a venomous look. "_Why_ do you bother even speaking to me? I know you hate me. There's no bloody need to pretend."

He returned the book; he was disinterested. Holding his hands up, he shook his head. "I was just making sure you were still alive."

Her eyes were slits as she gathered her books and equipment up. "Well..." she paused, confused. "..._Don't. _I don't need you to check up on me, Malfoy. I don't need anyone to! Leave me be!"

She stormed off, her robes flapping behind her. Draco knew that she wasn't like that normally, but didn't have the heart, or the concern, to even think about why. Why should he, Draco Malfoy, care about what _she _was anxious about? The words that were released from his lips next, surprised both parties.

"Wait, Granger."

For his eyes weren't looking forward, they were focused on his shoes, he didn't see her freeze and gradually turn her body to look at him. "What?" This hiss that had come out of her mouth, he could hear, was barely controlled, and he mentally prepared himself for the bellow that was bound to debut next. "What do you want?"

"It's automatic."

"Excuse me?"

"You asked me, before, if I liked jeering at you. And I'm giving you my answer."

She scoffed. "And you expect me to believe that the fundamental reason for your degrading snipes, the rationale for my dysphoria in my first few years of Hogwarts, was that you were some sort of... some sort of automated robot?!"

"That's not what I'm saying." He remained a calm anterior, though underneath, he was fuming. "It's like a reflex. When I see you, my unmeditated reaction is to take a dig at you, or call you... well, you understand."

"No, I don't think I do." She had carefully placed her bookbag on the table. "You're saying that the fact that you are so used to it by now, the fact that you have humiliated me so much in the past few years, it has become goddamn habitual to you, and this somehow excuses it? You're sick."

"Listen to me, Granger!"

"You actually have the audacity to tell me to listen to this absurd nonsense?" She wasn't budging, and neither was he.

He struggled to prevent himself from shouting at her. "Quieten down, you're going to alert Pince. Just listen, just _listen _to what I have to say."

"Will I be getting an apology for everything you've ever said to me?"

"I..."

"That's a no, then. I'll be going. And don't bother with our rounds. I will do them."

"Granger."

For the last time, she swivelled round. The tips of her hair whipped the bookshelves, creating a cloud of dust by her face. She coughed. Draco gripped the back of the seat beside him. White knuckles.

"It never meant anything. Anything I've ever said."

"Bye, Malfoy."

* * *

**A/N**: A half-cliffhanger, because we haven't had any yet. I do realise that we haven't had many nice moments between Draco and Hermione, but that's all to come! Please stay with me in the process! Reviews are better than lemon and sugar pancakes, so please leave some feedback. Even if it's one word.


	6. Conflicts and Broomsticks

**A/N: **Thank you SO much for the reviews they make me so happy!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters, JK Rowling does.

* * *

She had failed to mention the dispute from that morning to her two best friends, so when Draco sent Hermione a barbaric scowl, the male members of the trio were more than horrified. "What does he think he's playing at? All you've been to him is nice and what does he give back? Crap. Oh, piss off Malfoy. He's staring at the back of your head, by the way. Do you want me to-"

"Ron! Stop. It's fine." Hermione refused to look behind her at Malfoy's table. She continued to raise her eyebrows at Ron, who didn't seem to be stopping his never-ending harangue any time soon.

He ignored her flaring nostrils, a clear sign that she didn't want to hear any more. "You should file a complaint to McGonagall and see if you can get Harry, here, Head Boy." He nudged the latter in the ribs.

"Somehow, I don't think she'll be willing to change Head Boy because Malfoy shot me a dirty look at the lunch table." Rolling her eyes, Hermione continued to eat her sandwiches.

Harry and Ron had become accustomed to being very careful with everything they did when they were around Hermione. Depending on her mood, she either enjoyed the attention or she wanted to be alone so she could weep into her pillow. Yet most of the time, she just wanted them to treat her like before. She knew it would never be the same. She had begun to think about the illness more than ever now, and it physically pained her when her thoughts wandered to the terminal side of it. The sort of pain that you can feel in your core, your gut. The hopeless feeling that makes you feel weak and defeated as you clutch your stomach and desperately fight back the tears.

She obviously looked disdained to the boys, because when she looked up with faint lines on her forehead, the two of them clutched her hands tightly. They released her from their grasp, giving her a sympathetic look. "Hermione..." and she bit the inside of her lip. It dawned on her that she wouldn't be able to hold back the sobs that threatened, that itched at her throat. In the face of the fact, she could not take control, her body stopped obeying her. There was no outlet for her depressed emotions but her cries, so the sorrow and tears spilt over before she could wipe them away with shaking hands.

"I don't want to go to sleep at night because I'm afraid I won't wake up. I need to go home. I can't deal with this." Her words were slurred and muffled because her head was buried in her damp hands.

She heard a small voice beside her. "Maybe you should speak to someone about it." Hermione looked up at Ginny and hair fell from her face. She gnawed at her fingernails, a nervous habit she had managed to bring upon herself. "I'm sure Professor-"

"No. I don't want anyone to know, apart from you three. Please don't make me tell someone else."

"We're not going to force you to, of course not." Ginny clasped her hand over Hermione's. "Just think about it. Let's go and get you cleaned up." As they climbed out of the benches, they noticed the people staring, and Hermione realised she had probably been a tad louder than necessary. "They didn't hear anything, don't worry." With a Ginny's protective arm around the upset girl's shoulders, the two of them were able to exit the Great Hall before anyone questioned anything. The person that did, however, happened to be the Head Boy.

"Granger?" The familiar drawl sounded inappropriately near her ear. The girl in question turned on her heels, casting her gaze onto an undeserving Malfoy. Alarmed, he glimpsed at her streaked and mottled eyes, "what's got your knickers in a twist? Actually," he paused, holding a finger up and looking at a statue mock-thoughtfully. "Don't answer that. I refuse to believe anyone, or any_thing_, has ever had the courage to go anywhere near your underwear." He naturally smirked, seemingly rather satisfied with his comment.

She didn't answer. Instead, the young Weasley responded for her. "Don't. Just fucking don't, Malfoy."

"It was a joke, Weasley. Granger and I had a conversation about this earlier, didn't we? She understands."

Hermione looked at her shoes. Ginny had lent her a few pair of tights to get her through the next few months, and Molly had promised to knit some for Christmas. She had insisted that her own mother could have sent some, but the family were famous for being this kind and generous, so she felt she couldn't have said no. Fortunately, this meant that the swollen knee was concealed, and no one had made any comments since.

"Granger, you should dump those pathetic two boyfriends of yours. If they make you feel like this." The girls didn't know whether this was concern for Hermione or an opportunity to display his sheer hatred for Harry and Ron.

Her voice was tired, "what do you want?"

"Tonight, we should meet at the top of the stairs on the third floor."

Hermione stared. "I told you not to come."

"You were serious?" She nodded. "Well, it's not even your decision, anyway. If you don't want to do it with me, then don't come. I WILL be there, though. End of."

"No," Ginny's attention flicked between the two Heads, rather like watching a tennis match, as they fired stubborn remarks at each other. "You're not doing it. I'm doing it."

"Sorry, am I not speaking English" He dead panned. "I'm Head Boy, therefore I will be doing it. I don't care whether you tag along or not."

He swiftly turned and stalked away. Hermione's chin wobbled. There was a minute moment when she thought she might strangle the floating ghosts who had heard the entire conversation.

* * *

Assembled in a structured formation, the Gryffindor Quidditch team listened carefully as their captain roared orders at them from a distance, hovering on his broom. The breeze was lightly nipping at their cheeks, but as they had booked the pitch for the late afternoon, it was barely as harsh as the weather was this morning. They had to be grateful to Harry for this, because he was famous for booking their training hours in any weather he liked, no matter how bitterly cold it was.

Hermione had decided that after their training had finished, Ginny would help her with the next thing on her list. She had come to the conclusion that if she wanted to get any of the things done, she would have to cease her worries and forget her fears. She had the determination, but whether she had the confidence was debatable. Hermione was notoriously reluctant to fly, even since her first year, she was renowned for lacking in faith in herself when it came to broomsticks. She determined this as one of her vulnerable points, and Hermione, being Hermione and now noted as Head Girl, believed that she should demolish all weaknesses that ever were arisen.

So, as she turned her head to peer at the Moontrimmer she had acquired from a willing Fifth Year, Hermione vowed to herself she would vanquish this "Achilles Heel", she had so inconveniently possessed since her first flying lesson, when she discovered it was the one thing she did not excel at. Of course, she had flown before, but only in a time of absolute need, and so she wasn't completely inexperienced. The aim was to nip it in the bud.

She watched anxiously as the players lowered to the ground and began exiting the pitch. Harry, Ron and Ginny began to make their way to the seating area, where Hermione has clasped her gloved hands in between her thighs in an attempt to gather some warmth. She tentatively smiled. "I'm sorry about earlier, I wasn't feeling too good, if you hadn't noticed. I'm okay, now."

Harry put his arm round her and moved her broomstick aside. "It's fine, Hermione. Honestly, we understand if you want to have a breakdown now and again." He glanced at the Moontrimmer, which Ron was fiddling with. " What's this?"

"Oh, uh..."

Hermione alarmingly glimpsed at Ginny, who fortunately caught on quickly. "She brought it for me; one of my foot rests has broken off."

Ron frowned and inspected his sister's Nimbus 2001. "What are you talking about? It's in perfect condition! Ginny, you know we can't afford-"

"Ginny, we should just tell them." Ginny looked a little crestfallen at this remark, and this was most likely due to the fact she wanted this to be a secret, just between the pair of them. Harry and Ron looked positively perplexed, and were eager to hear what came next. "I created a list of things that I want to do before I die." She ignored Ron's unsubtle wince and continued. "I want to make the most of these next few months, you know? I thought this was a good way to do it. So, Ginny's helping me with it. The next one is: 'To be able to fly with ease'."

**Earlier**

_Hermione was barely managing her Charms homework when Ginny's voice interrupted her thoughts. "I agree with this one. This one you should definitely do."_

_"Hm?" Ginny had taken to talking to herself recently, so Hermione was unsure of whether this remark was directed at her._

_The red-headed girl slipped into the chair next to her and placed the list on the table. "The flying one. Finally, you can come out and fly with the boys and I in the Summer! I'm sick of being the only girl."_

_Hermione looked up and shot her a taxing glance. "Yeah. If I'm still with you."_

_"Hermione!"_

_She leant back in her seat, grimacing as she trapped a kink in her hair in the spindle of the chair."What, Ginny? What do you want me to say? I'm not going to ignore it, or sugar coat it for that matter!"_

_"I know. I'm sorry. You know how I feel about you mentioning it like that, it's as if you don't care."_

_"That's because I don't. I'm sorry if you don't want to hear this, Gin, but I can and I _will_ mention my illness in a conversation without hesitance and that's just my way of dealing with it. So actually, I'm not sorry."_

_"Oh, come off it, Hermione. This is not your way of dealing with it, this is your way of hiding behind a stupid façade so that we think that you're okay and you can talk about it openly because you've got it all under control and you're totally cool with it. Well, you're bloody not, I can tell you that now, Hermione Granger. I know you, and you're not okay with _any_ of this."_

_"I have no other option."_

_"I know, but you can talk to me about this. You don't have to pretend you're fine and dandy with the fact you don't know when your life is going to end." Ginny closed her eyes and rubbed her temples._

_"That's just it, Gin. No one knows when their life is going to end. It's the fact that I do. I do, and it's in a year or two. You don't know how this feels!"_

_"I can try! Help me understand, Hermione!"_

_The Head Girl shook her head. "Ginny, don't stress about it."_

**Now**

Harry and Ron, who had volunteered to help with this particular wish, had managed to hoax Hermione into mounting the broom. The next challenge was to somehow persuade her to hover at their height. Brushing aside her protests, Harry inched forward on his own Firebolt and told her to shift her weight towards the front to accelerate. "What makes you think I want to go any faster, Harry?" He hid a smile.

The breeze had, by some means, become significantly more powerful, and were now coming in great, harsh gusts from the North. This made it increasingly harder for Hermione to concentrate when all she was thinking about was how not to fall off her broom. He gave her a reassuring pat on the back, and she was astonished, despite watching most of his Quidditch games since their first year, that he could fly with no hands. "You're not going to fall. Even if you did, you know how many times I've fallen off my broom, and I'm always fine!"

She wobbled, quickly catching her feet on the wooden foot rests. "Well, this is different. You're experienced and I bruise easily."

The boys smiled sadly. They, and Ginny, circled her with wicked grins on their faces. "So, to go higher-"

"I can do it!" She paused, muttering, "I don't need you to help me." She saw Ron exchange a look with Ginny from the corner of her eye as she leant towards the end of the broom, straightening her back. She felt the clearly quite ancient Moontrimmer jerk in the wrong direction. She felt the drop in her stomach and the pure panic in her voice as she lowered her eyes to the floor, holding onto the handle for dear life. "Boys!" Hermione attempted to steady herself as the trio watching her glided above her.

Ron spoke, "the key to flying well is-"

"Balance! Yes, I know, Ronald!" She swiped the hair from her face and heaved a sigh. "Okay, I'm fine." She heard a cackle, and whipped her head round to furiously glower at the three. "Stop laughing! Stop! You know I'm not good at this."

They looked perplexed. Ginny pitied her, "you're hearing things, Hermione. No one was laughing."

Hermione frowned, but didn't question it, mainly because Ginny was looking at her in a very bizarre way. "Well, okay. We should go. I have to do my Rounds in an hour."

"I thought you weren't going to do them. Malfoy is."

"I should apologise." Ginny looked at her knowingly, remembering number four on Hermione's list.

Ron grinned as he dismounted his broom. "So are you going to tell us what else is on the list?"

Ginny silently laughed. "You have nothing to apologise for, Hermione. And Ronald, she will show you when she wants to. Stop pressuring her." He rolled his eyes.

The two Weasleys had not climbed from their broomsticks, and this left Harry and Hermione floating ten feet above them. Harry languidly lowered himself and disembarked, in such a graceful and practised manner that it almost looked as if it was choreographed. "I feel like I'm going to plunge into the grass when I push to the ground."

"You won't, trust me." She heard the cackle again, quieter now, but this time she knew it wasn't anyone she was with. Grinding her teeth and grasping the handle so that the skin of her knuckles spread thinly over her bones, she descended to the floor. As soon as she was off the broom, her heart slowed down and she physically could feel her muscles loosening "Thank you." Her voice was a whisper.

* * *

"Nice flying." The two Heads had been doing their rounds for half an hour, in approximately complete silence. 'Approximately', because there had been one point where Draco had attempted to nudge some words out of her, but failed pathetically. He hadn't tried since. Hermione slowly angled her head to face Malfoy with a deathly fixed look.

"Excuse me?"

The two turned the corner and their hands brushed together. Draco made a noise that could have been perceived as a growl. Hermione wondered why he made that specific noise. "I was watching Potter and the Weasleys give you flying lessons. I didn't realise so many people from the Gryffindor team had dropped out that they'd have to stoop so low and pick you as a part."

She focused on the walls, daring to control herself and not throw a punch exactly like in third year. It occured to her that Malfoy had been the one chuckling in the distance. "I'll have you know, Malfoy, I was only having another go at flying." She absolutely refused to admit to Malfoy she had this weakness.

"Oh, shove off, you're scared."

She stopped in her tracks and bored into to the space between his shoulder blades. "_No, _I am not."

He shrugged his shoulders with laughter. "Okay, then. You're not."

"I am _not_, Malfoy!" She was approaching him now, with a fiery look in her eyes. It was like he was trying to make it more difficult for her to complete number four of her list.

"I believe you! Merlin, calm down." He began to walk again, and she struggled to keep up with his extra long strides, which she was sure he was doing on purpose.

"Don't you dare tell me to calm down!" Hermione bit her lip and turned away as she felt a catch in her throat. The second time she'd shed tears today.

"Granger, why are you crying?" It was as if he'd never seen a girl crying before, even though he had. Because he'd seen her. No matter how much she tried, the walls she had tried to build to hide her from people being aware of her true feelings were collapsing and tumbling to the ground in great, big pieces. As if, each time her eyes watered, she pushed a brick to the floor, creating a gaping whole in this false exterior. "Are you being serious?"

Jaded, Hermione replied. "You have _no _fucking idea, Malfoy, about how I'm feeling. And you never will. You just _don't _get it. I don't intend for you to know, or understand."

"You're a fucking _nightmare_, Granger. Steer clear of me apart from our Head duties." He was walking away, when he turned and lifted his index finger. "Seriously, stay _well _away."

* * *

**A/N: **A bit of a filler there with a lot of dialogue, which I apologise for, because I know that's almost a sin in the world of fiction and a bad combination, but it (somewhat) had to be done. Thanks for the reviews, as always, and let me know what you think on this one, of course! I love criticism and will take it in my stride so don't be afraid to be too harsh.

Also, I have a request for you guys. As you know, Hermione's made a bucket list for herself, and I was wondering if any of you wanted to request something for that list. I've only got a few things on it at the moment, so here's an opportunity for you to request something. Obviously I won't do all of them, but I'll pick a few, if I like your suggestions! Thanks a lot, that would be a great help.

I'm also going to Devon for the next week, so the next chapter might be slightly delayed, but I'm taking my laptop with me so (fingers crossed) I'll be able to write!

Ps. I like long reviews but don't worry too much about that :)

Pps. Phew, that was a really long author's note, sorry!


	7. The Beginning

**A/N: This didn't take as much time as I thought, so here's the next chapter! Thank you so much for your reviews, I've commented to some of them after the chapter.**

* * *

It was a few minutes later when Hermione gathered the courage to wipe away the fading tears and heave herself up from where she was seated. Her frustration had died down a considerable amount, which was no doubtedly fuelling the angry droplets and this, she assumed, was probably why they were lessening. Despite this, she waited until the urge to burst into a huge denunciation in the middle of an empty corridor had wholly diminished into thin air. She wasn't in the right state, or mind (for that matter), to be doing things like that. And she understood this.

There was a moment where she stood in the exact midpoint of the hall, and she looked down on herself in pure disgust. She felt this throbbing repugnance in her soul, the sort of feeling that never goes away. Always there. Sometimes hidden, but always there. Hermione didn't feel this revulsion towards her appearance, she had somewhat come to terms with this. Her body and her _insides,_ however, the desire to rip them out was just about intolerable. She closed her eyes and took a large gulp of air. Her lungs felt empty. She stayed like this for a little while, her arms outstretched and her dainty fingers spread. An itch underneath her ribcage. She let the excess air out in one quick breath, letting her chest fall. Hermione began to walk.

A trip to the boys' bathroom, the nearest place with access to a mirror, was a five minute stroll from where she was. Somehow, despite all the years she had been residing in the castle, the Hogwarts corridors still seemed like an impossible maze of long and winding corridors, interwoven with tiny paths and hidden passageways. Every now and then, a student would come across a new scope secreted in the tangled disarray of rooms. That was most likely why it was many pupils' favourite place to be.

Hermione slipped into the bathroom which was occupied by a few males and remained unseen from them around the corner, at the same time, freshening herself up. She tucked the stray strands of hair behind her ear and looked at herself. She really _looked _at herself in the reflection, absorbing her empty appearance. Sunken cheeks and distant eyes; you didn't have to take two looks at her to notice something was wrong. She suddenly wondered why Malfoy, of all people, hadn't taken a dig at her for what she looked like. She gnawed at the inside of her lower lip.

Before she had enough time in front of the pane to start welling up, she forced herself away and into the deserted corridors. Students had begun to pack up and walk to their common rooms in small clusters. She noticed the sympathetic smiles from the lower years, but she didn't smile back. The Head Girl, branded kind and understanding, bitterly turned away and made sure they couldn't see her vacant expressions any longer.

She saw him before he saw her. His white head vibrant against the dark colours of the rest of the world. She seated herself next to him, focusing on the spot his attention was drawn to. A crack in the window.

"You were watching me."

"I thought I told you to stay away from me."

She cocked her head to the side and looked at his face. "Why were you watching me, Malfoy?"

"When?" His voice was dead. The same tone, the same attitude.

"When I was flying."

"I was taking a leisurely walk, is that forbidden?"

"Of course not. I was simply curious as to why you found yourself on the Astronomy Tower after a leisurely walk - which may I add, does not usually include a large flight of stairs for recreational purposes only – watching the mudblood you despise try to fly a broom."

"I found it somewhat amusing."

"Did you really?"

This drew his concentration. He finally twisted his head to look her straight in the eyes. "Granger, I don't know why I was watching you. I'm sorry that someone, at long last, took an interest in you." He didn't seem to have the heart, when he said these words, like he did in his earlier years.

She leant her back against the cool wall and smiled. "I wasn't going as far as to say you were taking an interest in me... whatever suits you, though."

His expression turned to angry in a split second. He searched her face for some kind of answer. "Granger, I'm warning you..."

She turned round and scrunched her eyes shut. She hadn't been anticipating this would be the day she was going to do it, but it felt right. It certainly felt like this was the right time. "Malfoy." Hermione braced herself for the worst case scenario. She was about to go through with number four on the list. No, she had not readied or prepared herself with Ginny but she was adamant this was something that had to be done alone. Something personal.

**Before**

_"Does this say what I think it says?" Hermione had been avoiding this question and had been so engrossed in circumventing the remark, that she was taken aback when Ginny had finally come to the fourth bullet point on the list. "Hermione, that's a bad idea." She paused and eventually turned her head to look at the girl. "And you know it."_

_"I don't, actually. I'm sick of fighting with him all the time, this verbal abuse is exhausting, to say the least. We're nineteen now and we're both Heads. I think we need to try and mature a little." Pausing, she thoughtfully hovered a bent finger in the air." Well, _he_ does."_

_"If you say so. And how are you going to go about this?"_

_"I'm just going to approach him and come out and say it. He won't hurt me, he can't. He's too proud to be Head Boy and doesn't want that taken away from him."_

_Ginny had doubtful eyes, but beared a percolated, amused smile. "Very well. Good luck with _'Number Four: Make peace with Draco Malfoy'_." She gestured air quotations with her hands. "I'm sure you'll do a fine job."_

**Now**

There was something troubling Hermione as she tried to decipher Malfoy's expression when he looked at her. He looked deeply disturbed normally, in a strange way, but now, his look morphed into one of curiosity and confusion. She cleared her throat and wiped the droplets forming on her brow. Despite his stern, grey eyes, she was unfazed and was determined to get this over and done with. Her face went lax as she attempted to be nonchalant so that he wasn't aware of her being afraid.

It wasn't a long speech you see, in fact, it was quite the opposite. It wasn't the length of what she was about to say that was worrying Hermione. It was more the content of the looming dialogue, the words that could possibly come off as desperate and weak.

"Malfoy."

"You've said that six and a half times now. Do stop spluttering and spit it out, Granger."

"Sorry." He tilted his head to the side inquisitively. "Okay. I would like to make amends. I know occasionally we are civil to each other, and I'd like to thank you for that, but when we aren't being nasty to each other, we really are, well, _nasty to each other._ And it exhausts me more than you will ever know. I just want us to be completely normal, and if that means not seeing each other apart from Head duties, then I'm prepared to do that. But _please_, stop with the absurd remarks, it's tiring. So, I want to make peace with you. We should shake hands on it, and leave it that." The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could catch them and alter them to her liking, but unfortunately for Hermione, she hadn't prepared the speech and it happened to come out in a jumbled and unorganised mess.

Draco leant back and absorbed the words. Like a true aristocrat, he spoke quickly, "I say, Granger, you do know how to win a man's heart." She felt the weight lifted from her shoulders from bracing his response and realising he hadn't taken it as seriously as she had expected. "A part of me would like to say we should stick to the status quo, but you seem to be quite determined to win this argument, so—"

"It wasn't an argument."

He looked deeply confused, but went with it. Something he wouldn't have usually done. "Okay. Well, fine. I promise not to make any remarks about your hair, or your blood status, or the amount of books scattered around our common room, which I must say—"

"Malfoy! That is not helping!" After a moment, she tentatively reached her hand out to him.

He stared at it with such horror, one would think he had never shaken hands before. Hermione could almost hear the cogs whirring in his head, and after a minute's deliberation, he clasped his hand into hers.

She wasn't sure how long there was between the moment his hand came to hers and the moment they actually shook but she definitely knew why they had been so slow to do it. Some sort of connection had come about when they touched, because really, they had never intentionally come in contact with each other before. She didn't know what had happened, she just knew they felt in sync. Yin and Yang. Fire and Ice. Fitting together like two expertly crafted pieces of jigsaw. She knew he had felt it too, because the look on his face described exactly how she was feeling inside. Hermione thought he wanted to get away as soon as possible, because his shaking action was a measly tremble, and, being a Malfoy, this just wasn't right.

He swiftly stood up and faced her, his voice cold as ice. "I'll be going. Don't hesitate to continue our rounds. I'll do the next one by myself. Goodbye." Swinging on his heel, a strand of hair fell onto his forehead.

He didn't bother pushing it back.

* * *

Why had she so suddenly wanted to conciliate and bury the hatchet? What had triggered this unnatural response to their seemingly never-ending disputes? He wasn't a friend of Hermione Granger, but one didn't have to be intelligent to know she was a stubborn Gryffindor. A fiery and mulish girl. Draco understood that.

A thousand questions pounding around in his head as he slumped his shoulders, standing underneath the showerhead in a sort of drunken stupor, not a care that the shampoo was dribbling into the tear ducts of his eyes. He slowly leant his forehead onto the dripping tiles of their dormitory bathroom wall and flattened his hands against them too, just either side of his torso. Eyes closed, mouth slightly open, he breathed out a long overdue sigh, his whole body slacking.

Quickly rinsing out the remaining soap out of his hair, he stepped out of the cubicle and looked at himself in the steamed up mirror. The cabinet next to the sink swung open and he sifted through the contents, mostly toothpaste and large hairbrushes, trying to locate his own toothbrush. His hand paused and was suspended in the air for a second, he had found a curious box of tablets behind Hermione's favourite comb. Smirking, he pulled it out with prying eyes and looked at it intrusively.

It was a simple white box, but Draco was intrigued by the prominent warnings printed on all sides of it. He smirked and slipped it into his pocket, promising himself he would ask Hermione about it later.

Little did he know that wasn't quite how civilised the conversation was going to go.

* * *

"Ginny, I did it. I did Number Four last night." Hermione slung her bag over her head and propped it up against her as she sat down. They were the only two female Gryffindors sat at the breakfast table. Harry and Ron had made themselves scarce and had rushed down to the Quidditch pitch.

"Wait a second... you mean, _the _Number Four?" Ginny's head shot up from behind the newspaper and she dropped her fork with an unnecessary clatter. "This is big. How did it go?"

"It was fine. I think. We shook hands."

"At least he didn't cower at the very thought of touching a "Mudblood"." Hermione grimaced. It was unlike Ginny to use the phrase so blasé when she knew Hermione wasn't fond of it. She nodded, though, and swallowed a bitter remark bubbling from inside her throat.

"I felt something." She regretted it as soon as the words were hanging in the air in between the pair. Knowing she had dived in at the deep end, she continued. "When we shook hands. It was bizarre. I just... I don't know what it was."

"I hope you're not insinuating you felt a 'spark' when you touched Draco Malfoy." Ginny raised a ginger eyebrow and spoke glibly.

She had said this in a playful manner that Hermione had misinterpreted, jumping from the bench and overreacting more than required. "That's obscene, Ginerva! I was utterly _not _implying that and I don't understand how could pluck that out of my words and twist them like that. I expected better from you." She closed her mouth to avoid a heavy reprimand. Hermione slid her arm underneath the strap of her bag and glanced at the young Weasley. "I have to go now." She mumbled.

Ginny watched her exit in astonishment, unaware of the boy in question sitting only a few seats back on the next table. There was no doubt he had heard the whole conversation. The question was, however: what did he think of it?

* * *

**A/N: **As always, there are the same people that come back after every chapter and give me feedback and I have everything to thank you for, but also the new ones! _Salvana_: My sister has read that book and I just found it on her bookshelf, so I'm going to take a look now! Thanks for the recommendation. _Sadie H and Voorpret: _Thanks _so_ much for the ideas, they've really helped. I'll try and use one of them in one of the chapters, so look out!

Warning: Obligatory beg for more reviews coming up.

If you have the time, please please please just take a minute from your day to give me some feedback after you've read the chapter. They make me so happy and I'm always left grinning after I've re-read them all a thousand times. They really encourage me to write more as it assures me that at least _some _of you are reading my stories! And even if you don't leave a review, thank you so much for taking your time to read this fanfiction. You're great, guys!


	8. Fine

Draco smirked. A terrible, irksome smirk. He stepped over the threshold into their common room and sat closely next to Hermione Granger, Head Girl. He didn't sit too close, though. That would be absurd. He knew that she had noticed him, he could tell from the unwavering look on her face that she was determined not to look back at him and shoot him a snooty remark that would (probably) have disastrous consequences for the promise they had shook hands on earlier. Draco could almost hear the sound of her teeth grinding. "Why do you want to be friends?"

"I never said that, Malfoy. I never said that. I said we should make peace. There _is_ a difference." She countered, still not showing her face from behind her book.

He glibly answered, "oh, do forgive me for misreading your advances."

"Come off it, Malfoy. Stop being a prat."

"No, but Granger, in all seriousness, what were your intentions? I was perfectly fine with the banter we had. I made it clear that that was all it was." She was avoiding the question, and he was avoiding her unmoved answers. "I'm not stupid." He muttered, picking up a deep-maroon cushion and chucking it at her book. It fell immediately from her hands, and it was blatant she wasn't pleased

"That's rich, it wasn't banter, you hated me. You still do, by the sounds of it."

He looked away with unyielding eyes, hiding his now hardened expression. "I don't hate you."

"Okay, so you don't hate me. I, however, think you still have issues with me living with you."

"I'm not lying, Granger. Drop it. You've completely twisted the conversation and I want you to answer my question. What were your motives?" Draco, being a suspicious one, was unhappy with her responses to his demands and was now resolute on deciphering this mystery. The mystery being, well, that was unknown. He just knew there was something going on. Hermione also had been lead to believe that he unerringly knew about her cancer and was out to get her, so steered clear of responding to his questions directly to the best of her ability. As you can probably recognize, this isn't the best combination.

"You're not lying, you say? You're lying right there. Don't lie to me, Malfoy."

He remained frozen in position, not an eyeball flickering. "I'm not. I swear."

"Merlin, Malfoy. Do you not get tired of never telling the truth?"

"Damn, Granger, you're proving to be the most stubborn one here." A glimmer of a grin. "However, I wasn't lying. So to prove that I wasn't, I'm never going to lie to you again."

She crossed her arms. "Well, that's preposterous, how am I to know if you're lying or not?"

"You'll know. Now I want my side of the bargain. You're not to lie to me either."

She slapped her book onto the coffee table and glared at him. "I didn't agree to this."

"Judging by your reaction, you're all but admitting you lie to me."

"Malfoy! I never said anything that could even—"

"You had the nerve to say it to me! I don't see how it's any different the other way round. Granger, this is ludicrous, we won't lie to each other from now on."

She blanched, a lump in her throat was suddenly very prominent. "Fine!" She looked up at the ceiling and thrust her chin up, "I don't lie to you anyway so that will not be a predicament!" Inside, however, she was writhing at the thought that he might ask her of her intentions, and she wouldn't be able to lie. Well, she could, of course, but she's never been a very keen or skilled, deceiver.

He smiled at her, a seemingly genuine smile. "Fine." She was taken aback, not so much though, as she could see the hint of humour lurking beneath the surface of his grin. "So, I don't think you answered my question. What was the purpose of our peace-making, again?"

"I'm sorry, I don't think I heard—"

He deadpanned. "You heard what I said."

"I—I don't really..." She stuttered and stumbled over her words, racking her brains to think of a clever response.

He sighed, getting up from the sofa and propping an elbow up onto the mantelpiece over the fireplace. "Granger, you're Head Girl and we share a common room. We have a lot of things to do together because of that, so that gives me a right to ask you what the _hell_ is going on! Maybe I'm just suspicious, maybe I'm just bloody mad. But a vast majority of nights I find you sleeping on the couch, with a textbook covering your face and a cold breeze spell at your feet. Half the time you flunk our rounds because you have "too much homework" or "you're too tired". Now, I'm not by your side 24/7 like Potter and Weasel, thank god, but I sure as hell know that you give a fuck about doing things right and pretty much perfect, and that includes your head girl rounds because you'd rather punch Flitwick in the balls than get fired from this damn role. But you've been slacking off lately, you tried to make peace with the Slytherin guy who called you a Mudblood for the best part of eight years and I _demand_ to know why." He also considered asking about the tablets right there and then, but something told him by the look on her face that it wasn't the right moment.

"What are you... what are you talking about?" Flustered, she collected up her books and stood, slightly shaky from heaving herself up from the sofa too quickly and probably also from his speech. She grabbed onto the grate in front of the fireplace and steadied herself. She felt a large hand grasped onto her forearm, holding her upright. She looked up at him from beneath her eyelashes. The close proximity in which they were stood was unnerving.

His voice was gentle, something Hermione had never experienced with Malfoy before. "I know I'm a douche ninety percent of the time, but I want to help. I agree with what you said yesterday, we should stop with the spite. I think I can change, I don't want to be the dick you remember from second year anymore. The war's over, my Dad's in Azkaban, can we just... start again?"

"I don't think I can do that. And you're wrong, it's ninety-nine percent of the time." He released her from his grip, but still lingered close to her. It was Hermione that increased the gap between them. "I have to go." She began walking towards the steps up to her dormitory, ignoring his calls.

"Granger, I know something's up. Let me help you!" His voice quietened as she approached her bedroom. "Maybe I can help."

She shook her head, closing the door before she could succumb to his pleads.

* * *

Surrendering herself to sleep, however, was not so effortless. Hermione tossed and turned in her covers, to the point at which she was cocooned in blankets and was struggling to escape the tight wrapping. The other contributing factor that had unabled her to move freely and release herself was the splitting headache that she had repeatedly been woken up with. It was the sort of migraine that throbbed ferociously with every manoeuvre, the kind that gives one terrible nausea. The type that Hermione had been experiencing every night this week. Managing to stand up with a controlled approach, she walked round the bed to the bathroom door with the least amount of movement possible.

These headaches had been a brutal side effect of the illness, and she had been warned by the doctor when she was first diagnosed. She had not been fully aware when she was told that they were going to be this agonising, so had proceeded to take standard headache tablets from the local store near home. They had somehow made them worse, and the severity of the migraines increase dramatically, and she was prescribed with pills called Naproxen, which aided her by decreasing the excruciation.

The tablets were in the bathroom. She found herself leaning against the tiles, sighing deeply and wiping away the surfacing tears. Retching, she stayed near the toilet and opened the cabinet door. Her vision was blurry so she fumbled around on the shelves and things were dropping to the floor with a noise that seemed to be ten times louder than the reality actually was. Her head pounded.

"Malfoy..." she whispered, a mere breath. She had one of her fists lightly knocking on his dormitory door when she said, a little louder, "Malfoy!" Hermione pummelled at the wood, her spare hand resting on the doorknob, ready to open if he hadn't answered in the next few minutes.

Of course, he did.

"What do you want? Granger, it's three o'clock. In the fucking morning!"

She didn't _know _Malfoy had her medicine, but she had an idea. "Where are my tablets?" She whispered, a word away from falling to the ground. "_Give me _my tablets." The look on his face, a response to this statement, confirmed her suspicions.

"What tablets?" He looked incredulous, but his eyes were hiding something. She knew he had them. She knew it.

"Malfoy!" She shrieked. "If you don't give me my tablets, I swear, I will hex you into oblivion, go into your room and find them myself! Now, where - are - my - tablets?" She punctuated each word with a beat on his chest, which she didn't think was quite like her, but she did it anyway.

"You don't have your wand."

The pain had begun to subside slightly, and I mean, it was still at an unbearable level, but not so much that she thought she would die if she didn't have any treatment within five minutes.

Crossing her arms over her chest even pained her, "and how, may I ask, do you know that?"

"You always keep your wand up your sleeve. You don't even have any sleeves on your pyjamas. Go to bed, Granger."

She ignored the fact that he had noticed where she stored her wand in the daytime and slapped him across the face with a sharp sound. His head was now turned sideways as if staring at his chest of drawers with a harsh red mark on his cheek. Hermione pushed him aside and looked around his bedroom. "Where are they? Malfoy, I have a migraine that is capable of passing me out and at this moment, it is warning me that I'm verging on throwing up very, very soon. I need the tablets. Please, please, just give me the medicine. I'll do anything. Please."

He deliberated this for a moment, but seemed to admit defeat inside his mind and sheepishly walked to his desk. He slipped his hand into the drawer and brought them out, a purely guilty look on his ashamed face. He mumbled a response, handing them over to her. "I was curious." Draco conjured a glass of water then, and she took it in silence, swallowing the pills and looking at him disbelievingly.

"Don't touch my things again."

"Granger—"

"Never bloody touch them. This was private, why would you go snooping around and steal my belongings, Malfoy? It's immature and rude. These are important." She held the box up and waved it in front of him.

"You must get migraines a lot, then." He genuinely was interested, but she stared at him, doubtful.

She carefully nodded as well, "I do."

He sat down on his bed and pried. "What is it then? Why do they happen so frequently?"

Her eyes were slits as she scrutinised him, unsure of whether he was testing her on whether she would lie or not, but his facial expression appeared legitimate, so she answered with a equally legitimate question. "Well, I guess there's something wrong with me." She started to exit, but felt a cool hand on her arm.

"I said this before, Granger, and I'll say it again. There's something wrong. You're not telling me something. I'll find out." He looked deeply into her eyes. Was he trying to tell her something?

Hermione didn't reply, because sometimes it was easier to talk not at all. Sometimes.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, so a lot of Dramione in this chapter! Which is probably what you have been waiting for, so here it is!**

**Thanks for the reviews, as always, you guys are so great! It's amazing to hear that you think it's realistic so far and that both Draco and Hermione are in character, which is SUCH a compliment. And here lies my obligatory plead: if you have time, please please please review and give me feedback/criticism, it's so encouraging and really makes me grin for hours. Thank you if you have, you're amazing!**

**I've just started school and it's my last GCSE year, which, if you're not British, means that I'm very close to doing really important exams, so the chapters might be slightly delayed. Please don't let this put you off, I don't mean there will be fortnights between each chapter, just maybe a couple of days later than normal.**

**Thanks guys!**


	9. Broken Friendships and Burning Flames

Ginny and Hermione sat together in Potions so it was difficult, despite both being exceedingly obstinate, for them to remain furious with each other. It was a tricky situation, but not one they could not find a solution to. There was an uncomfortable two minute silence when Hermione sat down next to the young Weasley, until Ginny spoke up shyly. A very unlikely circumstance. "I can't do this when you're..." she waved her hands around in the hope Hermione would finish the sentence and she wouldn't feel so unworthy of her friendship. But she did. "When I know... you're not going to be here till we're both ninety and still gossiping on our front porches with greying hair and arthritis." She looked down and sighed. "Hermione, I'm sorry. I was irrational and not thinking straight. Everything's just so... messed up at the moment. Forgive me." She then smiled at her friend expectantly. Expecting, always _expecting, _everything would be alright. Never anticipating a differing outcome. So naive.

"Ginny—"

"Afternoon, class!" Slughorn's voice boomed around the room and bounced off the walls. Draco blanched at the very thought of spending an hour in this lesson and wished he was under covers, sleeping. He rubbed at his temples and rested his chin in the palm of his right hand. He was shattered from last night and hadn't got to sleep even a small amount; naturally, the only thing he could think about was his mattress and silk duvet. "Mr. Malfoy, would you happen to know the answer?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "No."

Slughorn shot him a look which was a mix of curiosity and incredulousness. He was mustering up the courage at answering back when the boy in question scraped back his chair and stood, his long legs giving him the upper hand as he towered over the professor. He gathered his belongings and fired a death glare to the class behind him. He stormed out, ignoring the Potions teacher's attempts at calling him back. The Head Boy knew as soon as he walked over the classroom threshold that behaviour like this wasn't tolerated, assuming he was still, in fact, Head Boy.

Hermione and Ginny watched as Draco passed them and exited. The entire room was watching, actually. He glanced at Hermione, a subtle, discreet glance. The sort you would only see if you were looking for it. She definitely saw it. The class was submerged in silence till the dubious professor spoke up with hesitance and wariness. Four words. Powerful, but lost in translation by a quivering man. "Get back to work." Who wouldn't be intimidated by a Malfoy, capable of deathly glower?

"Ginny?" Hermione continued to scribble notes on the parchment placed on her desk but also happened to be able to whisper at the same time at an increasingly rapid rate. "Malfoy and I had an argument last night. Well, it wasn't really an argument. Well, I guess it was. That's beside the point. Anyway, he started lying to me, saying that he didn't hate me and didn't mind living with me, which I still think is the absolute opposite of the truth, by the way. So, we made an agreement that we wouldn't lie to each other, then he went on to say that he knew something was going on and started interrogating me and asking me questions about my illness and I _swear _I thought he knew, which, of course, would be the worst thing in the world. Imagine, _Malfoy, _knowing I had cancer? I wouldn't hear the end of it! I was walking up to bed and he was saying things like he could help me, and it was _as if _he actually did know and I was so panicked and it was awful, I wish you could have been there." She took a gulp of hair before progressing with the story. "I woke up with a horrific migraine, you know the ones. I couldn't find my tablets in the bathroom and I just had this feeling that Malfoy had taken them. Something was telling me he had them. So I was pounding on his door and it turned out he had! He was acting concerned and looked genuine when he asked me questions about whether I was okay and it was just... so _strange_. I don't know what happened, Ginny, but something's not right with him."

It was as if Ginny was hearing it 10 seconds behind the reality so, it took quite a while for her to come up with a response. If you could call it that. "I don't see how it's such a big deal if he finds out. Hermione, when... when your time's up, everyone will know. Do you not want to prepare people?"

"They won't care."

"Hermione! How could you say that?" They were both aware of their raised voices but neither of them seemed to be lowering the volume.

Hermione sighed, one that you try to control and it comes out ragged and unrestrained. "Can we not talk about this? I don't want to get into an argument. I just need you to be by my side and a shoulder to cry on. Can you do that?"

Ginny's eyes softened. "That's what I'm here for. You can talk to me anytime. Just... yeah. I love you, 'Mione."

"I know. You too." She turned away.

The lesson ended soon enough.

* * *

Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley were curled up on the sofa in the Gryffindor Common Room. There was a burning fire warming the room and it seemed to be empty, bar the couple, as their fellow classmates scattered about the school taking part in various activities or lessons. They reveled in times like this, where they could just be themselves. Lately, there seemed to be a lingering, hovering thought dampening their moods anywhere and everywhere they went.

"'You alright, Gin?"

"Do I look alright?" She sniffed and placed a hand on his chest, nestling closer to his masculine frame.

"Not really. I don't know why I asked." He wiped at her cheeks with his pointer finger and gazed at her. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really. Do you?" She found her answer in his hesitation. He turned away. "Why do bad things happen to good people?" She thought he tried to laugh. It's the thought that counts, isn't it?

"She doesn't deserve it."

"Who _does_?"

The evening consisted of questions directed at no-one in particular.

* * *

It took a while for Hermione to stop crying that late afternoon. She liked to think of herself as a strong woman who needed a lot of work to make sad, but that didn't seem to be the case. There was no eminent reason for this sudden bout of tears but they had come on and she had somewhat embraced them in the comfort of her own room. It was moments like this when she painfully wished she could be with her parents and be in the loving arms of her own mother.

A sharp knock at the door awoke her from a deep sleep. With a groan, she picked herself up from the bed and greeted the knocker.

"An owl has arrived for us downstairs. I thought you might have wanted to be present when I opened the letter." That seemed to be all; he trudged down the steps and into their common room.

Hermione's eyes widened and she slipped into her dressing gown. This had never happened before so you can understand the enthusiasm. A very different approach compared with Draco's.

He held it at arm's length after he had unrolled the parchment. He seemed to scan it before reading it aloud to her, a terrible grimace gracing his face. "We are to organise the Halloween Ball in two weeks. She said we can take ideas from the Yule Ball and incorporate them to fit a Halloween theme, obviously."

She frowned at the contortion of his face. "That's not bad!"

He swallowed. "No. It's not." He scrunched the letter into a tiny ball and turned to levitate it above the fire.

"Wait."

Gulping, he twisted his head. "Yes?"

"I want to read it."

"Why?"

"I like to read things like this myself. Give it to me. What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing." He dropped the ball into her hand.

Reading it, her stomach dropped. He'd missed out something. He'd missed the demanding sentence at the bottom that mentioned the Head Boy and Head Girl's obligatory dance with each other. She tried to hide the horror on her face and handed it back to him. He was looking at her, searching for a response. Her expression was empty. Nothing.

He burnt it.

* * *

"How long do you think she has?" Ginny shifted in Harry's arms so that she could look directly at him, forcing him to answer her with a straight answer, no hesitation or hidden frowns.

He bit his lip. "I'm not a healer, Ginny."

"Harry, please. Estimate. We should know how long we have with her!"

"She's getting worse. 6 months. At the most."

"No."

"Ginny, you have to face-"

"No, Harry!" She gathered herself up and separated from her boyfriend. "This is ridiculous. I can't face the fact that our best friend is on the verge of fucking dying! This whole situation is so bloody messed up and I can't do this anymore. It was all coming together, everything was looking so good for all of us! What's the point of expecting everything to be happy when something bad happens, _always?"_

"You can't think like that."

"I can, and I will, Harry! Positivity's a joke. A happy life doesn't exist. My best friend's going to die before she finishes school. You think I should be positive now? Merlin."

Harry glanced at her from beneath his eyelashes. The redhead seemed to be matching her fiery reputation. "Ginny, sit down. Come here. Everything's going to be alright. We just have to spend as much time with Hermione as possible and make her last months the best."

They stood millimetres apart by the fire, their bodies entwined. Ginny nodded to the rhythm of his strokes on her back, him unaware of the tears staining her cheeks.

Not only was this tearing Hermione apart, it was damaging her peer's friendships, too.

* * *

**A/N: **Okay, I am _so _sorry this is really late and short, but I've had so much coursework lately and it's been taking it's toll, and I haven't had enough time to write this. I literally wrote this about two hours ago so I apologise if it seems rushed and short, but I was desperate to post it this weekend so you wouldn't hate me forever. I will definitely find the time to edit it and add something interesting to the chapter :(

Review, as always, even if there's not much substance, please! I love you all, your comments are just so lovely to read!

Anyway, thanks again for reading/reviewing/whatever.

Eve x

(I thought I'd sign off with my name so now we're on first name basis or something)


	10. Sugar Quill

It was an extraordinarily sunny day when Hermione woke up that September morning. Naturally, she pulled back her curtains and immediately felt optimistic about the future, merely because of the absence of rain and the presence of shine. With this newfound positivity, she donned her casual weekend attire and hopped down the stairs with a spring in her step. She greeted the Head Boy like a friend and drank her cup of coffee like it was her first. It was only when Malfoy's proverbial inflection seeped into her ears as she placed her mug on the coaster that it dawned on her - she would be speaking to Professor McGonagall today. It was her own choice, her very own decision that she had made yesterday evening, Harry beside her but unaware of the thoughts going on in her head.

Hermione stopped and stalled; she was fully conscious of the fact she couldn't, and wouldn't, lie to him. "I'll be doing some work today, probably. What about you?" Politely, she answered back. Draco Malfoy hadn't asked for a full schedule of her day therefore, she hadn't given him one. And had missed out some specific details, but that wasn't important.

Ignoring her question, he frowned. "You won't be going to Hogsmeade? Why not? It's the weekend, Granger. You should _not_ be doing homework." Cocking his head to the side, he leant forward and over her shoulder, very obviously invading her personal space.

Refraining from rolling her eyes, when the urge was quite sensational, Hermione tilted away so that she could see his face and his expression. He smelt like white spruce wood, she noted. "I have things to do." She did, and the prospect of Malfoy following her when she went to McGonagall's made her feel nauseous. "It's easier when no-one's around." The Head Girl had already told the Headmistress she would be visiting her office sometime in the morning, so despite the runaway contemplation she was debating, it wouldn't be possible. What if McGonagall had arranged everything around so she could fit Hermione in? Clearly, it was going to happen, and she couldn't shake the appointment off.

"I see." Draco continued reading his book, occasionally glancing at Hermione, however many times he told himself not to. "I'm going to Hogsmeade. Blaise will be arriving here soon. Do feel free to make yourself scarce."

As if by magic, there was a knock on the common room door. There were no signs of movement coming from her body apart from a raised eyebrow, so Draco sighed and got himself up from the sofa. Swinging the door open, he revealed a dark, handsome Zabini leaning against the wall. Blaise nodded and tiresomely said, "Malfoy", with a bizarrely amused look on his face.

Draco reciprocated with the same action. Turning back to Hermione, he lifted his chin. "Bye, Granger."

She fought a smile and replied with the same nonchalance and carelessness that he had spoken with.

Hermione spent the rest of the hour reading a first year textbook on how to bewitch snowballs.

* * *

Terrified would be a good adjective to describe Hermione's feelings about going to speak to the Headmistress. It wasn't the actual action required that made her cringe and think about walking back; it was more about what she had to say. The unthinkable words that would have to come out of her mouth in order for her to get the outcome she desired. Desire. A debatable definition.

It was a long walk to McGonagall's office, but met with the dearth of bustling students and clangour, it seemed to be somewhat relaxing. It was more like a peaceful stroll through the tranquil corridors of the castle. A few yards away from the entrance to her Professor's office and approaching it carefully, Hermione considered her words cautiously. McGonagall hadn't wanted to change or severely modify anything about Dumbledore's old office, so had decided she would leave it as it was, and change the situation of the Head's office to a more appropriate location. The room wasn't dissimilar from Dumbledore's, except Minerva had tailored it to suit her needs and had donned more portraits, surprisingly, on the walls.

She was greeted with a tired smile as she walked through the archway and into the Head's office. "Ah! Miss Granger. Take a seat." She felt tiny in what looked like a throne, intricately carved with golden patterns and ruby cushioning. "I assume you'd like to talk about the Halloween Ball."

Hermione began to shake her head, but paused. She decided that it would be also a good time to talk to her about dancing with Malfoy. Something she wasn't keen on participating in, any less than Malfoy himself. "There's something I need to tell you. I was hoping, however, that this whole conversation could be kept absolutely confidential. I have no doubt you have the power to do that, it's just whether you would do that for me. The only people I have told are my closest friends and immediate family, but I thought it was time for you to know. Just in case... well, I digress. Professor. I have cancer." It seemed that McGonagall could keep the calmest of faces even when one is in a situation where this seems the least possible. "I think I have 5 months left, at the least. Because I'm Head Girl, I didn't want to unexpectedly go, without anyone of... high status knowing. It's easier now. I wanted you to know so that you had time to pick a reserve Head Girl." She nodded, adding finality to her words.

"Miss. Granger. This certainly wasn't what I was expecting, I must say. However, I understand why you thought this would be appropriate. Is there anything else?" Hermione would be untruthful if she said she wasn't staggered at the lack of concern in her Headmistress' voice.

She considered this question. "No. That'll be all. Thank you, Professor." It was when she was admiring the vast expanse of books on a glass encased bookshelf that McGonagall's voice cut the silence like a knife.

"Hermione. Please don't hesitate to come by anytime you'd like. These ginger nuts won't eat themselves! Take care." That was it. That was what she was looking for.

* * *

Blaise gulped back a peal of laughter and gawped at Draco in what seemed like a somewhat mortifying manner. "I can't wait till I tell the boys. Okay, let me get this straight. You, _Draco Malfoy, _will be having a dance with _Granger? _As if dancing isn't enough, they put you with Granger? Draco, we will never let you live this down. You do realise that, don't you? Merlin. It's like McGonagall _wants _you to wretch all over Granger's no doubtedly ghastly dress during a rhythmic foxtrot. Say, do you think she's a talented dancer? Oh, your face will be priceless—"

"Zabini!" Draco snapped. His drink sloshed about in his mug. "Agrippa's Sake, I won't actually be dancing with her. I downright refuse. You evidently don't know me as much as I thought you did! Pass me that serviette."

Draco was convinced he was less happy about this than his Head Girl companion. He'd decided that the reason for this was, of course, that she was muggleborn. And aristocratic, high class purebloods like himself don't sway around dance floors with Mudbloods in their arms. That was simply obscene and was something he wasn't prepared to do. Conversely, when he persuaded himself that this _was _the rationale for feeling queasy whenever he thought about it, he also knew that this wasn't. Something else was making him feel like that.

The pair entered Zonko's. Blaise was immediately absorbed in the items that the store had to offer, but Draco wasn't entirely convinced, and wandered to the corner of the shop where they sold Frog Spawn Soap and Nose-Biting Teacups. He had heard Hermione mentioning to Ginny during their study group session that she had wanted to try out a Sugar Quill, but had never acted on it. Draco inspected the piece that was spun and shaped into a quill, making you look thoughtful when sucking on it in class. Sneering, he placed it back on the shelf and peered at Blaise, very engrossed in the various colours and flavours of Bertie Bott's Beans. Draco looked back. The internal debate was indescribable. He practically threw the quill onto the counter before he could change his mind and tapped his feet, looking anxiously at Zabini. He drummed his nails on the surface before tossing coins into the cashier's hands. "Thanks." He murmured, stuffing the quill into his pocket and stalking over the threshold, groaning at the cheery sound of the doorbell.

"I didn't know you liked Zonko's, Draco." Blaise wondered.

"What?"

"I saw you buy that Sugar Quill. Good pick, I've always liked the strawberry ones, but if blackcurrant suits—"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Blaise!" He hurried ahead, dipping his head as if to stop the snow from falling on his face.

* * *

The library was a very special place to Hermione. It held everything that was right in the world, in her mind. It smelt like aging pages and dusty shelves; the crackling of a fire in a distance corner. It helped her think. It helped her do. The touch of a textured binding could root wonder and knowledge. The flicker of yellowing parchment. A library was somewhere that held a vibration of curiosity and creativity and Hermione was drawn to this like a swan to water. She knew this library like nowhere else. Each leather bound novel; each uniform textbook. She knew this library like the back of her hand.

She set the letter down on the desk and re-read it a few hundred times to make sure she had absorbed it fully. She had mulled over asking Draco about this, but had come to a decision, of her own accord, that he wouldn't be as interested in planning the Ball as she was. So she was going to do it by herself.

Hermione spent the rest of the evening cleverly bullet-pointing her ideas onto a four foot long parchment for Draco to read through.

* * *

Draco set down the piece on the table and sighed, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. "May I ask why you did it without me?"

"You don't look like the type of person who would discuss colours of icing with a muggleborn into the dead hours of the night."

"Don't I?" He raised an eyebrow.

She leant on one leg and put her hands on her hips, biting back a smile. "Not really. Anyway, you were in Hogsmeade, I had nothing to do. It was practical."

"We have plenty of time to do it. Why do you feel the need to do everything nine years in advance?" He sat next to her on the couch. She squirmed away. He looked at her.

"That's technically incorrect, this is in two weeks."

Draco laughed. "Right then. I do not approve of the orange balloons you said here." He pointed to the list. "It's too clichéd. Everyone will be expecting that. We need something different, a colour that isn't too obvious but then, not too outlandish. Also, what in the bloody hell were you thinking when you said we could invite the House Elves. Hermione, I know you're fighting for their rights and everything but—"

Hermione gulped, and creases appeared on her forehead. He stopped. His lips parted slightly. Draco looked away. "I think I should go to bed."

She shook her head. "Please don't."

He made a move so he was leaning in towards her, a mystified expression gracing his features. "I think I should. I bought you something from Zonko's. 'Didn't want you to think I was that greedy. It's in the bag by the fridge." He got up and parted from the sofa, forcing himself out of the room.

Once he was out of sight, Hermione made her way towards the bag. Curiously, she tipped the contents onto the kitchen counter. She gasped at the large quill-shaped lollipop. He'd remembered. He had been listening. He somehow, underneath the cracking surface of his cover-up, vaguely _cared._

* * *

**A/N: Okay, so I guess it's obvious now that the chapters are going to come pretty late at the weekends, which I'm really sorry about, because I first intended this story to be pretty fast at updating. But I hadn't expected this amount of homework every week! Anyway, hope you liked the chapter. Any ideas/feedback/reviews/criticism/points to make? I don't know. Please speak up!**

**Love you all,**

**Eve x**


	11. Intoxicated

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I wish.**

**A/N: **ENJOY

* * *

**8:15**

Fifteen minutes and the Ball would be beginning. Hermione, to say the least, was panicked. Draco, to say the most, was the unequivocal opposite and lounged on the sofa languidly, his whole length donning a dark tuxedo. He had yet to put on his robe, which he was, somewhat understandably, hesitant to slip into. Instead, he watched the Head Girl dash around the common room making unnecessary arrangements and scribbling lists onto stray pieces of parchment. Merlin knew what she was writing. Snorting, although this forced her to stop what she was doing and glare at him, he made his way towards the door and hooked the infamous dress robe over his arm. "I'll be in the Hall. I will make sure the decorations are adequate." He stepped out and stood in the corridor outside their room peering in. "Granger, don't fret. Everything will be fine. McGonagall was delighted with our plan." He attempted a quick, reassuring smile before leaving her alone in the quiet space.

"Get dressed, Hermione. Nothing else needs to be done." She muttered and mumbled but made no movement to go up the stairs where her dress awaited her. The muffled sound of the music could be heard underneath her feet and she felt the familiar tightening of her stomach. A certain wave of nausea washed over hair but she was determined to walk into the hall confidently and ignore the suspicious stares. The ones that didn't exist, but nonetheless Hermione believed they really did. A bout of motivation compelled her to rush into her dorm and step into the gown. It wasn't dissimilar to the one she had worn to the Yule Ball, except this dress was ivory silk that effortlessly cascaded down her body effortlessly. She had, originally, seeked out an orange or ebony coloured attire to fit with the theme but this had proved difficult, therefore she had settled with this one.

Sliding her arm around Hermione's, Ginny matched her stride and they both entered the Hall for the first time. Hemione let a gasp escape from her lips. It had been transformed into a world where horror and Halloween were the only existences. The Hogwarts ghosts added an air of reality to the scene but otherwise, it had completely metamorphosed into the very theme they were striving for. Sliced pumpkins dripped with thick, scarlet punch hung from hooks on the walls, next to the bowls of black pasta charmed to bite your tongue at an attempt to eat them. "It looks amazing, 'Mione. Did you do all this?"

Hemione couldn't seem to get an answer out. She continued towards the stage where a large group of students were gathered in a pathetic effort to get closer to the band performing. Feeling a tug at the skirt of her dress, she spun round too fast and rocked on her heels dangerously. Her eyes in slits, she surveyed the hall.

"Miss Granger?"

The tiny voice appeared from nowhere or, more evidently now, from her feet. "Mitsy! What are you doing here?" Hermione, at first, demanded. Her voice softened as she took in the terrified look gracing the house elf's features. "What's the matter?"

"Mitsy is only here to tell you Mister Malfoy is looking for Miss Granger. Mister Nott told Mitsy to do so!" Bowing her head, Mitsy headed back to where she had come from, despite the questioning look on the Head Girl's face.

Hermione, deciding that it was not the time for yet again, another argument with Draco, strode back to Ginny and gulped back a bubbling glass of champagne. "Hermione Granger, please don't tell me you're pursuing drunkenness?"

She scoffed. "Yes, with champagne. Obviously." She paused, however. "Actually, it's on my list. Number five, to get absolutely inebriated."

The Weasley rolled her eyes. "Go for it, then. I'm not carrying you back to your dorm; one of the boys can do that." Looking around, she exhaled. "Ron will still be dithering over his dress robes. Mum still didn't get him new ones, despite the disaster at the Yule Ball. I think she thinks he likes them, and he doesn't want to let her down. You'd think with all the whining he would have given in and asked for new ones. Unlucky sod."

"Surely, there would be inexpensive ones at Madam Malkin's!" Hermione's tone betrayed her exhausted expression.

"You would have thought so. Anyway, what's Malfoy wearing?"

"I didn't really take any notice." And she didn't realise why she lied, then. She knew what he was wearing. The image was still in the back of her mind.

Shaking it off, apparently, Hermione whipped another glass off one of many trays that were hovering around various parts of the room. She downed it in one.

* * *

**9:30**

Hermione lingered by the previously-Ravenclaw table. Six empty glasses of alcoholic drink were distributed on the surface of the table right beside her.

* * *

**10:30**

Draco was watching as she swayed slightly out of time, mouthing the words to the song she didn't know. He scoffed, irked. She was so irritating. He had already had enough, but the afflicting matter of the dance with the Head Girl was still bothering him. Hermione spotted him for the first time that evening. She made a wavy bee line for him, accidentally dropping her clutch onto the floor but completely unaware of the fact. He groaned, becoming cognizant of her lack of sobriety. "Really, Granger?" He murmured. As soon as she appeared in front of him, he placed a hand on her back and led her towards the unpopulated space where she had dropped her belonging. Handing it to her, they walked- she stumbled to a corner where they could hear each other.

"What are we going to do about this dance?" He asked. She laughed.

"Dance, of course!"

"Granger." His hands were gripping her shoulders. "I'm sure you don't want to do this any more than me. Now, please sober up a little so you can talk to me normally."

"Yes, I will sober up right now." She concentrated on his face, pouting a little and flaring her nostrils. She moaned and her right knee buckled from underneath her. He caught her elbow. "Whoops!"

He rubbed at his temples slightly, a struggle at maintaining his calmness. "We're going to wait until McGonagall and the other Professors have gone up to bed. Try and stay hidden so they can't find us. Please. You will regret it if you pull me to the floor and start waltzing-" His efforts were abolished as a speakerphone sounded about the hall, the volume of the students chatter and song decreasing dramatically.

"Could the Head Boy and Head Girl please make their way to the dance floor to start off the annual Head Halloween dance? Thank you." The music began before Hermione could fall over into his grip.

"Right. Let's not make this a big thing. Five minutes, then we're done." He unwillingly took her hand. Unwillingly, because his hand was clammy and too large. He did it, because his heart was racing.

It took Hermione a short while to realise what exactly was happening. Muddled, stumbling and temperamental; she was far from what McGonagall had expected her to act like that night. Hermione did, however, as she was told. Draco led the way, his hand resting lightly on her waist and the other clasping her free one securely. Out of context, it was a scene that would have sparked fascinated interest in many. In context, it was somewhat normal and desirable. A pair of females - the tall: Ravenclaw, the other: a Gryffindor - idled on wooden stools by the two. The Gryffindor raised an eyebrow at the Ravenclaw, who gaped longingly at the white-haired boy escorting Hermione around the floor in repetitive circles. "Why are you looking at them?" The girl asked. Draco and Hermione remained silent as they held each other. Rising and falling, like a ribcage. Despite what you may think, it wasn't a romantic sight. Hermione couldn't step properly without catching his feet and Draco couldn't wipe the heinous smirk off his face, even with his subconscious telling him all of this was wrong.

"They're sweet, don't you think?"

She snorted loudly. "Yeah, if everyone forgot their prejudices held against Muggleborns. I don't even think Hermione Granger could forget them. Remember when he called her a 'Mudblood'? Yeah, not going to happen, Kate. A miracle would have to occur before Hermione goes for a Malfoy."

The Ravenclaw turned to a brunette boy who had started to approach her. She stood and glanced at her friend. "I think that's quite sad, really." She was whisked off before the former could reply.

* * *

**11:30**

Very few people remained in the hall by the time the Professors had gone to their rooms and left the students to fend for themselves; the disinclined pair of Heads in charge. Pupils that had come back to complete their studies were the majority of the room's population, including Neville and Luna who, as always, dwelled on the dance area alone.

"I'm really not in the mood tonight, Blaise." Draco quipped as his best friend began to pull him towards an abandoned blonde lazily leaning near the entrance to the hall. "No, seriously, Zabini. I'm heading up."

"Oh, you tedious bugger." He deliberated. "Wait, you're taking someone up with you, aren't you?"

"No, I am not. Piss off. Where's Granger?"

"Why? Is that that you're-?"

"Blaise, I swear to Merlin-" Draco smirked, seeing Hermione out of the corner of his eye. "Found her. I need to tell her she's in charge for the rest of the night. You stay down here?"

He pondered. "Might aswell; more birds for me, then."

"You're disgusting."

"Thank you."

Draco stopped in front of the staggering girl and shook her shoulders. "I'm going to bed. I can't believe I'm saying this in your current state, but I'm leaving you to be in charge. That okay? Okay."

A hand gripped his arm. "No, Malfoy!" She scowled. "I want to go to bed, too. I'm coming with you."

"Granger, you can't just leave everyone here."

She began to stalk barefoot out of the hall after pulling off her shoes. "Watch me!"

* * *

**11:45**

He followed her, of course. His head throbbed, his stomach was empty - or full - and he wasn't in the mood to be chasing Hermione Granger up the countless amounts of stairs up to their common room. By some means, this came to pass and he watched her hobble to the sofa in the main room and collapse onto it. "So, now that's done, I'll be going."

"Wait! Wait."

He spun round. "Why?"

"Can we play a game?"

He fought terribly hard not to sit next to her. "Granger, it's nearly midnight. I will be _very _grumpy tomorrow morning if I don't get any sleep, especially if that's due to you and your stupid, pleading eyes. Go to bed."

Pouting very unfamiliarly, she whispered. "I can't get up."

"Sleep there, then."

"Will you carry me?"

He began to walk away, "that's absolutely absurd. Goodnight, Granger."He was halfway up the staircase leading up to his dormitory when a finger tapped his shoulder. Preventing himself from rolling his eyes into the back of his head, he scrunched them up and sighed slowly. "What do you want, exactly?"

"I'm not very tired; therefore I don't want to go to sleep. You're the closest person to me; therefore I'm asking _you _whether you will stay up so we can talk about Quidditch."

He stifled a laugh. "Quidditch, eh? You're into that now?" She nodded simply. He agreed, but trudged up the remaining steps and opened the door to his room. Gasping, he came to a halt as he felt a pair of hands on his shoulders. They slid down over the contours of his back, across and over his shoulder blades, eventually resting on his hips. "Get off me." His voice was a husky whisper. A sound that she didn't seem to care for. He felt pressure just below his neck where her forehead had hit the fabric of his shirt. Pushing with her hands, Hermione forced him into his room. Somehow, he couldn't seem to find the source of strength that would enable him to separate himself from the Gryffindor. Walking around his frame, she scrutinised, until she had reached the very space directly in front of him. "Please leave, Granger."

"Why?"

"You're drunk. If you knew what you were doing, you would be horrified."

She frowned and breathed, "what am I doing?"

"I don't know."

"So, maybe I would be delighted."

He cocked his head. "Trust you to say things like that when you're smashed."

Glancing at his king-size bed, she flattened herself onto it and giggled, ignoring her spinning head. "Well, isn't this comfy?" She gulped back the taste of bitter alcohol in her mouth. Draco groaned. "Come here."

He did, but only to grasp at her arm and pull it in an attempt to get her out of his duvet. In some way, she managed to grab him by the tie and pull him onto her body. He engulfed her with her smell, despite having only smelt alcohol before, his scent was overpowering. "Malfoy," she murmured. He awkwardly rolled off her, and they lay there to stare at the ceiling for much longer than they should have. Because, two years ago, if this was to ever have happened, he would have most likely pushed her down the stairs in disgust. But some things had changed.

Hermione eyed the vicinity of his stomach; the shirt that had previously been covering it had ridden up in his efforts to remove himself from her. "What am I doing here?" She asked, because the area surrounding her whereabouts was fogged up and she had no clue how she had appeared in Draco Malfoy's room. She steadied herself on the bedpost.

"You tell me." Hermione shrugged, and began to slip off her dress. "Wait! What are you doing? Stop undressing!"

She looked at him, confused. "Why?"

"Stop asking me fucking ridiculous questions! You're drunk, you're in my room and I don't bloody want you here. Take your shoes and go to bed,_ Merlin's Beard_!"

She appeared somewhat upset by his outburst, but continued forward to the door connecting their dorms via the bathroom. "Can you unzip my dress?"

"_What?_"

"I can't reach it by myself. I'm not going to fucking take it off, Malfoy."

"Don't act so surprised, you were doing so before." He muttered, advancing towards where she stood.

There was a moment of silence as he pulled on the zip, his fingers careful not to touch her skin a large amount. He did, and they both silently got strange shivers. His spare hand rested on her shoulder to steady himself, because he was shaking slightly - the reason unbeknownst to him. The tension in the room was at an all time high. Draco could smell her sugary perfume because the proximity in which they were stood was the closest they'd ever been. He reached the end of the zip but his hands never left her body. Her breath caught. Leaning back, her head rolled onto his left shoulder with her lips parted. His hands, which he was very wary of, slid onto and caught her waist. He swore.

His breath fanned her flushed face. "Don't. You need to go."

She left.

Something in both of them that night changed fiercely; because they really couldn't look at each other the same way again.

* * *

**A/N:** Wow, okay so I think this was quite an exciting chapter, mostly at the end, I guess. I procrastinated a lot with this chapter because I thought it was going to be a bit of a drag and also was very ill this week, so I put it all off till Sunday. Hence the late update. Hope you liked it, anyhow.

I feel like some of you might complain about how unrealistic this is, so I'll address that now. This is Dramione, you're reading. Of course it's going to be realistic. The whole concept of this couple is unrealistic. I felt like the happenings from 11:30 were necessary, despite their realism debatable. If you want to expand on this, then feel free to, but I don't want to apologise too much for my writing.

**IN NEED OF A BETA**

**Mine hasn't contacted me in weeks, so I really am in desperate need of a new one. There's only so much Microsoft Word can do! I thought it would be good to ask you guys first, because you know the story! And also because I didn't want to go through the endless lists of betas on this site to find no suitable one. If you're interested, please contact me!**

I love you all for reading, you're all fabulous. Please please please review, they make me so so happy and I just want to cry when I read them. Any thoughts/criticism? Don't be shy!

Love always

Eve.


	12. 38

**Disclaimer: Not mine. JK Rowling's.**

* * *

Between the moment with Draco and waking up in the morning in her own bed, Hermione had somehow made her way to her bedroom. Delivered with a horrific headache, of course. That was inevitable. Fortunately, it was the weekend; therefore, although very unlikely for this particular Head Girl, she could allow herself to stay under her chrysalis for a couple of hours without having the liberty of classes. There wasn't much she could remember from last night, everything but the fact that she had found herself being zipped down by Draco Malfoy remained unknown. She wouldn't be glad to question him about it, either.

She had made the decision to delay getting out of bed purely based on the fact that she felt like the agony would never subside and that no movement would, by some means, aid her. There was a knock at the door. Rolling over so that she could see the visitor clearly, she grunted, in the hope that this would convey her permission for them to come in. Even though it could really have only been him, she was somewhat still unsettled. He wore an unctuous smirk on his face despite holding what she was unwittingly longing for.

Draco placed the packet of tablets on her beside table silently. "I'll leave it to you to conjure the water."

"Thank you." She spoke up again when he stopped on the threshold, his hand wrapped around the doorframe. "What happened last night?"

He didn't say anything. On reflection, as he padded away, she hadn't really expected him to. It was Malfoy after all, and even with the one time he acted like he remotely cared for her just then, she didn't think he would ever change.

Eventually, Hermione found herself undressing herself in acute pain. Ignoring it, however, she continued. Why she was doing that and not remaining in bed was unknown to her. She had a shower, dressed in clothes that were the closest to her and carefully made her way down into the common room where Malfoy sat reading the Daily Prophet. There was silence as she moved her way round the kitchen to get her breakfast, the meal she wasn't keen on eating in the hall.

They were both perched at either end of the table, Hermione sat opposite Draco in a polite fashion, a fashion he did not replicate. Slouched in his pyjamas and leaning back in his chair with one foot resting on the other leg's knee, you wouldn't expect the blond-haired boy to be a member of the aristocratic family he most certainly _was_ a part of. It was a pure-blooded label that now brought shivers to most people, the reason: Lucius Malfoy. Hermione had always thought of Draco as a clone of Lucius; the same person, the same attitude, looks and personality. She'd assumed, wrongly, that his aspirations were similar to his father's. She couldn't have been more wrong, of course, she'd found out over these past few years. Hermione had thought what many other students at Hogwarts had thought. Draco wasn't Lucius. Lucius wasn't Draco. Lucius, an ex-death eater in the hands of dementors in Azkaban, was a man far from his son. Draco couldn't crave less the reputation that his father at brought upon them. Of course, he desired power but he yearned for people to think of him separate from his family name. He wasn't a death eater. He was forced to be.

Draco cleared his throat and stared at the Head Girl from the top of the page. She was sipping her coffee delicately and peering at the wooden surface of the table inquisitively. Hermione glanced up when she heard him. "We have rounds in fifteen minutes. Merlin knows why we've been asked to do them in the morning, we've never done that. Anyway, can you be ready?"

"Yes, well, thank you for letting me know so early in the morning so I could prepare. You're a marvellous help sometimes, Malfoy." The sarcasm dripped from her voice; he shot her a glare.

"Honestly, Granger. What could you possibly prepare for rounds?"

"Never you mind. Zabini's doing rounds with Ginny tonight, so maybe you two could swap?"

He gawped at her incredulously. "You like Blaise?"

"Don't be absurd. I meant you and Ginny could swap."

Offence graced his features, which usually remained empty and calm, but quickly vanished in seconds. "I think it ought to be Head Boy and Head Girl. Not Head Girl and irritating, ginger wannabe."

Hermione gasped. "You foul—"

"Don't pull that on me again, Granger. So, be ready in ten? Good." He left her in disbelief, which was becoming an increasingly often occurrence following a conversation with him.

The lasting ten minutes were spent reading her Charms essay over and over again for good measure, and debating whether or not to wear a jumper in the ever-decreasing temperatures of Hogwarts. Deciding on the former, she slipped it on and waited by the entrance of their common room. Three minutes on, she was tapping her foot impatiently with her hand on the knob of the door, eager to move on and get her rounds over. Draco appeared before her, a smirk plastered on his inexorably self-righteous expression. "You're late." She reciprocated with a scowl.

The rounds weren't particularly thrilling or exhilarating but nevertheless they continued, mostly because they had to; a little because the both of them were furtively enjoying the tranquillity of what Hermione thought of as a leisurely stroll.

"Why _do _you hang about with that intolerable duo?" Draco enquired as they passed a couple in a compromising position, which neither of the two Heads were ardent on speaking up about.

Hermione stopped and raised her voice. "Excuse me?"

The Slytherin, previously locking lips with an underage Ravenclaw, looked up at her and cocked his head sardonically. "Yes, Miss Granger?" The brunette who seemed to be having difficulty escaping from his grasp whimpered.

The Head Girl frowned, lifting her chin up. "Let her go, please."

The Slytherin, Jonathon Harper from the year below, removed himself from the girl and stood, his height radically bigger than Hermione's ergo giving him the advantage. Draco coughed, putting his hand on Harper's shoulder. "Mate, let it go."

Harper's stance seemed to slack after a long pause, and he looked back at Hermione. "My apologies. It won't happen again." He indicated to the girl cowering on the bench next to the three of them. "C'mon, Mandy."

Hermione held out her hand. "You go on, Jonathon. I just need to have a word with Mandy and wouldn't want to keep you waiting." He paused, glanced at each person present in the corridor, but left without a word. "Mandy, are you alright? You must be careful and not let them pressure you into doing anything, especially the Slytherins." Draco, standing quietly in the corner, looked up and rolled his eyes, sighing loud enough for Hermione to catch. Fortunately, it wasn't so dramatic that she had to spin on him, though. Drumming his fingers on the dusty window sill, Draco watched as Hermione lead Mandy to sit down and listened to her explaining the situation. He marvelled at how calm she had been and wondered how on earth he had been chosen for such a high position in the school. And of course, how it hadn't been Harry Potter.

Mandy had wandered off in a daze whilst Hermione spent the majority of the remaining minutes expressing her revulsion for men, in particular the Slytherins. "—absolutely sickening. Don't you understand how bloody terrified she must have been? You should keep an eye on him, Malfoy. And how you just stood there and just-! I tell you, you're all utterly vile."

"Hey! We're not all like that." Draco held his hands up. "Harper has a bit of a reputation, though. It wasn't shocking, that's all."

"Well—" and she stopped. Clutching her thigh as an unusual throbbing coursed through her veins, she panted and fought hard not to scream in pain. He stared at her, alarmed.

"Granger?" His facial expression clearly explained his thoughts on this situation and how little he knew on how to handle it.

She held up a hand. "It's fine. I'm fine." She continued on, hobbling a little as they reached the stairs leading down to the third floor. "I can handle—"

And then something happened. It was as if her knees had buckled from underneath her and any possible form of support withered away in the space of a second. The first strike was quick. Her right knee hit a step firmly, the edge striking her skin and releasing blood instantaneously. The second. Hermione had subconsciously decided to walk on the left, near the banister so inevitably her skull was the second part of her body to collide with the solid infrastructure of the castle. A crack. Draco dashed forward, his hand reaching out to seize her wrist. It took a couple more blows of the bones to knock her out.

She lay frozen at the bottom of the stairs.

* * *

Draco settled on the chair that Madame Pomfrey had provided, a few inches from Hermione's bed. He rested his elbows on the arms, clasping his fingers together and looking at her rather expectantly. Somehow anticipating she would wake up at his arrival, he was disappointed.

"Mister Malfoy, it is unlikely she will arouse today. She has taken a good few beatings and needs a nice, long rest."

"I am aware of that, Madame Pomfrey. I _do_ have things to discuss with her, however." He paused, and muttered, "it would be most bloody useful if she could be conscious when I'm talking to her."

She nodded her head. "I understand. Head duties, I suppose?"

"Something like that. I'll wait here."

"Mister Malfoy—"

Draco interrupted with a half-hearted groan. "Please."

She seemed to deliberate for a while. "Very well then. You are to leave by five thirty. Any longer and I will personally _force_ you out." He thanked her. She left. He waited.

It was approximately thirty-eight minutes later when Hermione opened her eyes for the second time since the fall. In those thirty-eight minutes, Draco had moved a considerable amount. He had been back up to their common room, a request from Madame Pomfrey, to get the Head Girl some pyjamas. He had managed to find them, but only before fumbling awkwardly around in her room before realising he could have Accio'd them into his hands. He had somehow motivated himself to take his Defence against the Dark Arts essay down into the hospital wing to write as he waited. Draco had decided that this sort of determination and perseverance was something he wasn't used to, and so as he leant back into the chair and touched his temples, he was anxious he was getting himself into something he wasn't prepared for. A tiring five minutes later this deliberation, Hermione Ganger lifted her eyelids.

"Harry?" She groaned. Turning on her side to look at the guest, she swore softly. "Oh, it's you."

"Don't you agree I deserve a better greeting than that? I did carry you here, let's not forget."

"What happened? Pomfrey didn't really explain it to me before; she was worrying more about my injuries. And then the boys were too busy fussing over me to tell me anything. I'm not sure they knew, either." Hermione smiled sadly.

"Potter and Weasel have been in all day, I believe. I expect you'll have more time with them than you feel is necessary. Anyway, I was sort of hoping you would be able to answer that." Hermione frowned. "I don't know what the hell happened. It just... did. Something pained you in your leg and you tried to walk on it, next thing I knew, I was looking down on you sprawled across the bottom steps." Grimacing, she rubbed her forehead. He didn't know whether she had made the face at his recall or her injuries. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, it's fine."

"Granger—"

"Malfoy, I'm fine."

"You said that before you fell. Look what happened." He smirked, but it seemed very lax.

Hermione stared at him, ignoring his statement. "Could you let Pomfrey know I'm awake?"

After a few minutes of superfluous commotion and fretting over Hermione's wellbeing, the Nurse stood at the bottom of the bed. "Miss Granger, if you need anything, do not hesitate to call me over." She glanced at Draco uncomfortably. "Now, regarding your..." there was a pause as Hermione gasped and the two women looked at Malfoy, "Your...'comfort and health' at the moment, everything is alright, isn't it? Are there any issues you'd like to discuss with me?"

Hermione flared her nostrils, obviously glaring at Madame Pomfrey. She struggled to get her words out, and ended the conversation with a final and definite "no".

When the Nurse had left, Draco span round to look at Hermione. "What the bloody hell is going on?" His voice had dropped to a harsh hiss.

"Nothing! Absolutely nothing, Malfoy. It's none of your business, anyway. Leave me alone. Why are you here? Just leave. Leave, _please_!" Her protests weren't needed. He had already risen and had stomped out before she could call after him anymore.

As he stalked away, he was sure there was a mysterious reason for her not-so-discrete conversation with Pomfrey and the sudden outbursts whenever he tried to help her. He was sure. A hundred percent.

* * *

**A/N: This was an unsually quick update for me! Anyway, I hoped you enjoyed it. It got slightly more exciting, I guess. Please review, please, please, please! You've been slacking on the feedback lately, guys :(**

**Reviews and criticism are Ben and Jerry's Cookie Dough - who doesn't like that!?**

**My love,**

**Eve**


	13. Close

**A/N: I am so so sorry for the late update. I understand how irritating it is for author's to tell you they're going to update regularly and then that never happens, so I apologise profusely!**

**My new Beta (allisath) hasn't sent me this chapter back from editing yet so there may be a few mistakes - but I needed to post it soon because I'd told my followers on Tumblr that it would be posted tonight!**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

Michael Baker was a rather popular Hufflepuff. Michael preferred to be called Mike. Surprisingly, he didn't like Quidditch, but he still went to spectate the games in which his friends played. He enjoyed reading and felt that essays were especially satisfying, despite his peers' thoughts on this. Astronomy was his best subject. Considering this fact, he spent most of his time (when not basking in the glory of his popularity or biting his fingernails) in the Astronomy Tower.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realise anyone would be up here." Mike had trudged up the steps leading up to the Tower only to be confronted with the quiet Head Girl leaning over the edge of the precarious balcony.

She turned, tucking a stray curl of hair behind her ear. "I was leaving anyway. Sorry."

Changing his mind, he stopped her as she stepped over the threshold. "No, don't leave. It's a rare occasion that anyone's ever up here." He paused, awaiting her response. "I'm Mike. Hufflepuff. And you're Hermione Granger."

Her mouth tugged into a reserved smile. "Gryffindor, Head Girl."

"I know."

Hermione hadn't stayed in the hospital wing for long but still donned various scars displayed on her fragile skin which she made every attempt at hiding. Considering her illness, the bruises seemed to be amplified ten times more than a healthy person's. She had expected this – nevertheless, her anticipation hadn't stopped the tears at all.

Michael eyed the miniscule scar above her left eyebrow. She stopped him before he asked. "I fell down the stairs."

"It looks nasty." She rolled her eyes at the state of the inevitable.

"I had a fair few injuries. Nothing Pomfrey couldn't handle, though. Are you here for any particular reason?"

He looked up at the sky and said, "Astronomy's my favourite subject. I like to come here as much as possible to get the highest grades and whatnot. What about you?"

Hermione smiled. "It's a good thinking spot."

"I expect you don't have much time to think."

"Not enough."

He looked down.

Hermione bit her lip. "Not nearly enough."

* * *

"Malfoy, could you meet me at the Common Room in ten? We have something to discuss." Hermione nudged him in the ribs. They had walked out of the Charms classroom and already had she been pestering him about various Head duties.

Draco sighed. "I suppose so. Is it anything important?"

"No, I'd just like a leisurely catch up with my favourite Slytherin." She paused and deflated her nostrils. "Of course it's bloody important. Don't be late."

He watched as she trotted away and ignored the slight limp in her right leg. He had convinced himself that was to do with the fall.

Despite having better and more exciting things to do, he found himself gravitating towards the common room even just after she had spoken to him. She had given him ten minutes; he was there in two.

The sofa was cold on his body. He rubbed his hands together and observed the door carefully, his silver eyes penetrating the brass doorknob. Draco thought long and hard as to what she was going to be speaking to him about. He was a prying and fairly intrusive person so inescapably was desperate to know what was keeping her from telling her this secret she had been so tight-lipped about.

"I didn't think you'd be here." Looking up, Draco saw Hermione leaning against the wall by the entrance.

He swallowed. "I had nothing better to do."

She swallowed. "I see."

"What is it?" He wrung his hands. There was a slight tension in the room that he subconsciously tried to get rid of.

Hermione perched on the other end of the sofa, one leg crossed over the other. She tried to look him in the eyes as she spoke but found it difficult. She concentrated on her feet instead.

"You're right. There is a reason for me sleeping down here at night. There's a underlying reason for my falling down the stairs and the bruises that are almost too dark. I couldn't tell you because I was embarrassed you'd judge me, humiliate me and tell everyone in the school and that would end me, Malfoy. I've come to terms with the fact that I'm going to have to tell you. We do rounds together, we're the first person we see each morning and we all but live together. Before I say the words, I just need to know you're not going to blurt it out to Zabini and Nott ergo letting the whole of Hogwarts know."

"I can't promise-"

"Malfoy! Please."

Her brown eyes persuaded him. "I won't." She stared at him. "What is it then, Granger? Spit it out. I'll bet it's not even-"

He was interrupted. She hadn't had much time to wipe her eyes when the door to the Common Room opened. The Headmistress stepped over the threshold, one hand steadying her hat. "Ah, Miss Granger. I was hoping you'd be here. Afternoon Mister Malfoy." She nodded and turned back to Hermione. "I received your owl. I thought maybe you wouldn't have wanted to walk all the way down to my office."

Jumping up, Hermione bit back a cry. "Oh, yes! Right. Yes. I wasn't going to come till later but that's absolutely fine." She shot a glare in Malfoy's direction and he stared at her inexorably. "Would you like some tea, Professor?"

"That would be lovely."

"Well, take a seat. Make yourself comfortable." She tapped her fingers on the surface of the table as she waited for the tea to brew.

"Mister Malfoy," she heard McGonagall say, "I believe you have a Potions essay to accomplish today. I believe now would be a perfectly convenient time!" After a minute, Draco seemed to have got the implications and treaded upstairs, not without shooting Hermione an angry look on his way.

"I always thought Albus had done a lovely job with the Head Boy and Head Girl quarters. What do you think?"

"I think they're great." Hermione handed the mug to the Professor.

"And are the rooms adequately spaced?"

"Very much so."

"Splendid." Hermione sat down. "How are you feeling today? I'm afraid I didn't have much time to visit you in the hospital wing but I trust Madame Pomfrey was good to you."

"She was. I feel much better, thank you."

"And in regards to your... condition?"

Hermione gulped and refused to let her Headmistress knew how she had truly been feeling lately. "Well, that is what I was hoping to speak to you about."

"Do go on." She set her mug on the coffee table and clasped her hands together.

Hermione took a deep breath, and sensed that the woman opposite wasn't nearly as stressed as she was at this moment in time. "You see, I think it's all getting a bit too much for me." She hadn't ever expected that this was something she would have to say in her life. Hermione Granger, capable of anything and everything. Hermione Granger, the girl who needed a necklace that could turn back time just so she could balance all her classes evenly in one whole day. Hermione Granger wasn't someone who quit. No, she was not. "The duties I'm expected to perform perfectly, I am not. Professor, I'm not sure I can cope. I'm just going to have to accept the fact that I have to put my health before my schoolwork. I'm sorry." With a hand over her mouth to conceal her trembling chin, she spoke the last few words with a quivering whisper. "I'm going to resign from my Head Girl role."

McGonagall tightened her clasped hands. "Miss Granger-"

"I would only be doing this if I thought it was only necessary. There are many girls who would be wholly acceptable and would undertake the job in an instant."

"You were picked for a reason, Hermione."

Hermione thought about not going through with it. "I'm not fit enough to finish this year. Do you not think it would be better to find a new Head Girl sooner rather than later, when I'm too fragile to stand up by myself? I was hoping that you'd let me pack my bags tonight. Ginny has a spare bed in her dormitory."

"I see. And this is your final decision?"

"Absolutely."

"Well then. I will inform the rest of the school tomorrow morning and we will start accepting applications as soon as possible. Miss Granger, I hope you know what you're doing."

Hermione nodded. "Yes. And thank you for understanding, Headmistress."

McGonagall tipped her head down and placed a hand over Hermione's. "I will bid you farewell. I appreciate how hard this must have been for you. You've been very mature in your actions. Do say goodbye to Mister Malfoy from me." And with that, she vanished. The only trace was the chilled mug of tea set on the wooden surface of the coffee table.

* * *

Draco stormed into Hermione's bedroom and stood at the doorway, clutching a soft bag in his shaking hand. "Granger, will you explain to me what in Merlin's name this is?" She didn't turn round, instead, continued to fold her clothes up and place them in her trunk.

"It's a bag, Malfoy. Remind me, you're Head Boy and top of the year... how?" He had dropped her belongings and walked round so that she could see his face, and he could see her's.

"Would you care to inform me on what is going on?"

She placed the last pile of clothing into the chest and straightened to look him dead in the eye. "I've resigned, if you will. I can't do it anymore."

He scrunched his eyes closed. "What? What are you talking about?"

"Do you want me to spell it out for you?"

He pressed his fingers to his temples. "Please."

"As of tomorrow, I officially won't be Head Girl anymore."

"You're giving _up_?"

"You have no bloody clue what is going on inside my head, Draco Malfoy. Don't you dare think that you do. I am not fucking giving up."

Draco sighed slowly. "Granger, this is you, we're talking about! You don't just give up Head Girl because you 'can't do it anymore'. Why are you doing this? Explain why, please. I'm finding it hard to believe that you just can't cope."

"I can't, Malfoy! I can't cope! You saw me the other day, I can't walk down a few steps without ending up in the hospital ward."

"Tell me what's going on. Please, tell me. Has what you were going to tell me before got something to do with this? Granger, I-"

"It's nothing."

"It's obviously something!" She rotated on the balls of her feet to walk away from him. Again, she felt his cold grip on her wrist like a vice. "Granger-"

"We're still on a first name fucking basis, Malfoy," she hissed, "What makes you think I'm ready to tell you my deepest secrets?"

"It's always been fucking like that, though! Are you under the impression that I do not have the metal capacity or the sheer capability of helping you or giving you advice?"

"Yes! I fucking _am_, Malfoy! All you've done is bully me these past few years-"

"Granger, you were going to tell me before! How is now any different? What did McGonagall say?"

"_Nothing_! Nothing. Leave me alone. Please, just leave." Despite her words, she stalked to the door as if to make an exit herself.

He ignored her cries. "You can't resign. Granger, don't. This isn't you." Walking up behind her, he reached over her shoulder and pushed at the door, slamming it shut. "Stop. Just _stop_. We have to talk."

"Malfoy." She turned to be faced with his looming figure too close to her liking. Leaning back against the door, she groaned as he stepped forward. "Why do we have to talk again?" Her mind clouded, she couldn't think. She heard the sound of the scrape of his hand as it slid down the door to by her waist. Her eyes fluttered shut. "I can't talk about this right now, like this. I'm not in the right state of mind."

"What is the right state of mind?" A stray curl dangling from in front of her ear caught his eye. He fought the urge to push it back.

"I don't... I don't know." He stared at her lips. They looked particularly pink.

Something clicked. "Tell me."

"No."

"Granger."

"No."

"_Tell me._"

"_No._"

"God_dammit, _Granger, you are impossible!" A hand molded to the doorknob, he twisted and opened the door, despite her leaning against said door. He slipped out, and the only sound that could be heard was the aggressive footsteps down the stairs and her heavy breathing.

She sat down on her bed, and she cried.

* * *

**A/N: Any feedback that you'd like to share with me? I'll love you forever.**

**Always,**

**Eve**


	14. Remember, Remember

**A/N: I think you've all been waiting for this.**

* * *

There was a knock at Hermione's door ten minutes later. She hastened to tidy her clothes. "What do you want?"

His voice was quiet and muffled behind the block of wood seperating the two. "Let me in."

Sighing, she surrendered. "It's open."

"You're not making any sense." He pushed it shut, but stayed facing the door. He frowned.

"What are you talking about? I think I'm making perfect sense."

He struggled to keep from shouting at her, so collapsed onto the other end of the bed and crossed his legs. "Give me a valid reason, Granger. Tell me why you don't want to be Head Girl."

"It's difficult to answer that." There was silence.

"_Why_? Why is it difficult? To me, it requires a simple answer."

"You're not me, Malfoy! I can't just..." she seemed to hardly cope with the internal battle. "This is exhausting. Everything is exhausting. Do you know that all we ever do is fight? _You're _exhausting."

"I thought we were getting better at that!"

"Clearly not!" She waved her hands between them, ignoring the splitting headache that had suddenly arisen. "I need some tablets, they're in the bathroom. Could you get them for me?"

He stared at her before rising from the bed. "Yeah, of course. They're in a blue box, aren't they?" She nodded, a hand on her forehead.

When he came back and handed her the pills, he sat closer to her. Watching her swallow them, he gingerly placed a hand on hers. She pulled back. "Malfoy." Hermione shook her head.

"Please, just tell me. I can't understand why you were going to before and then stopped."

"I had a revelation, I guess. I thought maybe by telling you, it would make me feel better when I asked McGonagall if I could resign. It doesn't matter now. I'll be leaving tonight."

"Granger," he, for some unexplainable reason, wanted her to stay for one more night. Draco had no valid reason as to why he was pushing this, but he continued. "Are you saying that my _existance_ is why you're stepping down from your position? I genuinely had assumed our relationship was improving, believe it or not." He mumbled, playing with his fingers.

"This headache's not going, I'll go down to Pomfrey and see if she has anything stronger."

"I'll come with you."

Her response was suspended when they both spun round at the sound of a tap on her window. An owl stood, perched on the sill carrying one envelope that swung from its beak. Hermione clicked it open and let the bird through, giving it a stroke as she pryed the letter from its firm grip. Draco sat opposite her as she tore the paper open, her fingers trembling marginally as her brain continued to smart irrevocably. It was from Ginny. Shocked, Hermione was interested as to why her friend hadn't made the effort to come to her common room and had written a letter instead.

"I can't sleep at her dorm tonight, the elves are making my bed up and it won't be ready till tomorrow." Hermione grimanced at the mention of the house-elves, then, "are you going to this Bonfire Night thing tonight? Ginny says she's going. It'll be in the Clock Tower Courtyard and- ooh, George will be selling firework-themed sweets, apparently. The first time since Fred passed." Hermione wiped at her eyes, as to pathetically prevent them from watering.

Draco looked at her, unsure whether to answer her question as it seemed now, she had changed the subject. "I won't be going, no. Only negligible imbeciles make the effort to stand outside in the November weather and aimlessly watch gunpowder be ignited into the sky. It's futile. Will you?" The offensive words had languidly spilled from his mouth as if he had rehearsed them in front of a mirror. Despite completely denying himself and no admission whatsoever, Draco Malfoy was a bit of a loser. With the thoughts that everything and everyone was moronic, vapid and worthless, he made no endeavour to socialise with anyone but his few friends that - sadly - didn't think much of him either. His impervious attitude was his most dominant downfall and he made no attempt to change it. He was a Malfoy, after all.

"I think not, this time. I'll be too tired, it's best to get an early night."

"Yes." He was moving to exit. "Well," he cleared his throat, "I hope to see you later, we could maybe play Exploding Snap - I would say that's fitting, wouldn't you?"

She nodded and smiled, watching him leave via the bathroom door.

* * *

During her lunch time, Mike had invited Hermione to join him in watching fireworks with him or "at least watch from the Tower". She politely agreed, in spite of her dislike for the occasion and her recent exhaustion which had been taking a full toll on her. In the limited time that he had given her betwen the moment he had asked and the moment she had answered, the Head Girl had attempted desperately to think up a valid and supposedly ordinary excuse but all that came to mind was that she had Quidditch Tryouts. Everyone knew full well that Hermione did _not _fly. Ginny had nudged her in the ribs and told her to respond, because apparently she had been "gawping like a fish".

So as requested, she staggered up the stairs to the Tower and arrived on time at 7 o'clock sharp. "Hi, Mike." she said, for the boy was leaning against the wall with a mischeivous grin on his face.

"Hermione," he said with an Irish twang to his voice. The fireworks had begun to light up the sky. "They've just started. Come over here, it's a great view." She shuffled forward and sunk into him as he put a protective arm around her shoulders. Looking up, she watched as the flashes of coloured lights lit up his well-structured face, shining onto and highlighting his prominent cheekbones. "Aren't they amazing?"

"Truly." For ten minutes or so, all they did was observe the vast array of rockets and fountains illuminate the ebony heavens. Smoke was beginning to waft upwards in their direction, along with the smell of toffee apples and melting sweets that were seemingly very popular with the students down below.

"Shall we go down now, then?"

"Hmm?" Hermione was comfy right there in the crook of his arm, her exposed skin warmed by his fleece. "Are we not staying?"

"It will be much more fun down there."

She panicked. Hermione had expected to stay there for the rest of the night and as she re-thought this idea, it dawned on her how ridiculous that would have been. "Right, yes. Well it is getting late, so I might just go back to the common room."

"Hermione, it's half past seven."

"I've been really exhausted these past few days, what with Head duties and schoolwork. Thanks though, Michael. You've been really lovely."

"Lovely enough to be worthy of a second date?" The familiar smirk graced his face once again.

"Ah, that's pushing it." She smiled, the crinkles around her eyes creasing. "We'll see."

"Oh, come on. Hogsmeade, at the weekend?"

She pulled open the door. "We'll see."

* * *

She was weary. He was entirely fatigued, collapsed on the large window seat opposite the sofas. Hermione perched on the cushions as far away from him as possible, her legs outstretched. Their positions were mirrored, exactly the same. "How was it?" He questioned. There was no doubt about it, he was genuinely interested. Though she wasn't listening, her mind on other matters. She asked him if they could talk about something. Draco nodded, his expression guarded significantly, albeit he glanced out the glazed window.

"I'm ill, Malfoy."

He tore himself away from the window and swallowed; she watched his prominent Adam's apple bob up and down. "Sorry?" It seemed that he hadn't heard her, or he had and was avoiding the fact that he hadn't misheard.

She put pressure on a bruise that had formed just above her knee, a result of her fall down the stairs. Observing the yellow hues fade back into a garish purple discolouration that she disliked so very much, Hermione sighed. "I have cancer."

"You don't have cancer, Granger. That is a complete over-reaction." The screech of a firework souned in the background of their conversation, followed by a deadened applause. She looked up to see him peering at her vacantly. She also gulped, swallowing back her tears and polishing off any sort of pride or pretence she had built a wall up of in the past few months along with them. "Granger," he paused, troubled as to what to say, "You can't be serious."

She felt the all too familiar prickling sensation in her nose. "I'm afraid I am."

"Well," he made a sharp twist to look again, out of the window pane that they both leant against. Playing with his dishevelled hair, he let a lock fall over his eyes, on the side that she seemed to be facing. "And how did this come to happen?"

"I found out before September. I have a few months. Not too bad." She swung her legs over, brushing his in the process, so that they dangled from the sill and she overlooked their common room.

"Not too bad? _Not too bad? _Are you_ crazy, _Granger?" He let out a strangled sigh. "You're nineteen, you're telling me you only have a handful of months left to live and that's _not too bad?_"

"What am I supposed to do, Malfoy?! Tell me _what the hell _I am supposed to do in this situation, _please._ I'm struggling to find an answer, maybe you can bloody tell me! Don't you _dare_ act like I haven't thought about this _over _and _over _and fucking _over_! Because I have! I have. I hate it. I hate it so much, it's awful. But there's nothing I can do to change the fact that I'm going to die soon. Maybe tomorrow, maybe in eight months. I don't _know. _I can't _do_ anything." Her shrieking voice combined with the squalls of the fireworks was not a sound that brought pleasure to Draco's ears but right now, he was somewhat happy that the noises were drowning out his own blaring thoughts that the Head Girl had a terminal illness and no one was doing anything about it. At least he thought.

"Just calm down. We can sort something out-"

"_Don't _tell me to calm down. And I swear to Merlin, Malfoy, if you start treating me differently because of this I will personally-"

"Magic, Granger. You're a witch. Surely, it's nothing that a potion can't fix."

"Unfortunately it is. There's no spell, no potion, nothing; I've accepted it."

And despite everything that Hermione and Draco had been through together, despite everything that the Malfoys had lived for - one action could change everything. He didn't care. He was past caring. In that single moment he forgot about the fading prejudices and the preconceived notions that his parents had forced upon him before he had was old enough to realise that they weren't morally right. Draco closed his hand over hers, causing her to look up at him in dumbfoundment. His thumb grazed her knuckles, an unsure act of reaching out to her. "We can try and fix it." A quick squeeze, and he released her hand.

"We can try."

* * *

**A/N: Ooookay so just before you close the tab, I've a note just to those who reviewed my last chapter with some feedback ****(it surprisingly triggered a large influx, which I was not expecting) ****about Hermione not telling Draco about the illness. Fair enough, I asked for it, so thank you! I took on board what you guys said and I've changed my plan up to accomodate your demands. I hadn't anticipated that people would be so "annoyed" by the fact that I hadn't made H tell D yet, so the next few chapters will pan out a little more differently than I had planned it to. It's a bit inconvenient for me, because if you'd have waited one more chapter, there would have been no need for the criticism (obviously you didn't know that, though)! However, I am doing this for you amazing readers and I am a bit of a people pleaser unfortunately so, there's no changing that. I guess what I'm trying to say is - don't be too harsh on my fragile heart and think about how you word your feedback; sometimes it does feel like a punch in the gut!**

**Despite that whole paragraph, I'd like to thank you for the amazing reviews, they make me so happy. And if I had enough time, I would reply to each and every one of them.**

**Hope you enjoyed the chapter :)**

**Eve**


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